Ransom
by MorningSkyeSong
Summary: Bella is heartbroken after the loss of her sister/bff Angela. When she meets Edward, she can't help but fall for the brooding angel. But when a vicious plan to hurt Edward's family turns into a race to save Bella's life, can their relationship survive?B/E
1. Introduction

**Hello, everyone, and welcome to my baby Ransom. This is my second story written for Twilight, and I just thought I'd give you all a brief summary and history of this story since I love it so much. My first story, Aurora Bourealis, is a continuation of Breaking Dawn, and so of course, its totally Twilight--vampires, werewolves, canon pairings and all. But then I read a few stories where Edward and Bella were human, and ding! Instant inspiration. But I must admit, an idea for a proper storyline didn't come to me for maybe two weeks after I decided I wanted to write an all-human fanfic. **

**So one evening, I was cleaning out the litterbox of my pet cat, Topaze. Holding my nose and breath and basically wanting to throttle him for not having covered up his mess once again (he wasn't neutered yet, so the "marking of territory" instinct was still strong) when my thoughts began to wander down an unfamiliar road. **

**Suddenly, I wasn't surrounded by the pink tiles and white walls of my tiny bathroom anymore, I was in a small, non-descript town in the Northwest where the clouds are seen more often than the sun, and the moss grows thick all around the trees, not just on the northern side. Where Bella and Angela were sisters. . .and Edward was broken and brooding.**

**The whole story panned out before me like I was watching it on a moviescreen. And **

**I fell in love. I just had to write it. **

**And there, my friends, you have it. Ransom was born. Now, I want to prepare you all. I mentioned that my previous story Aurora Bourealis was totally Twilight...specifically in canon pairings. Now, I am totally for Edward and Bella, but I just think it's fair to warn you that it won't necessarily be that way at first. In real life, everyone goes through wrong people before they find their soulmates. And sometimes, they have to live with the consequences of those choices. . . . .**

**Please bear with me. I am not one of those authors that manages to update two or three times a week, or even every week. Inspiration takes time. Okay, who am I kidding? Inspiration comes when it wants to, and I am not in charge of that. God is, and the characters in this story will do what they want, when they want. Who am I to jump into their little world and change it around? *shakes head* Besides that, I do, however unfortunately, have a life besides writing. I'm currently in my third year of college, majoring in biology and premed (and considering minoring in english), and that means a LOT of hard work. I also have a rather complicated home life at the moment, nor am I very organized or coordinated when it comes to managing my time. So sue me. I love writing and reading, and I sneak away whenever I can to do it, but that doesn't mean it'll always get done in time for when I'd like it to. The first chapter of this story took me over a month to finish. Now, I don't always expect it to be like that, but when it is, please be patient and understand. **

**There. Now that's said. *wipes forehead dramatically* I suppose the only thing left to do is to tell you to sit back, relax, grab some popcorn and enjoy the story! **

**Oh, and don't forget to review, even if it's just a teeny note saying you were here and read the chapter. Reviews are my lifeline...they're what encourage me to go on and keep writing. Reviews are better to me than one day meeting Jackson Rathbone!!! Okay....maybe not that. But I still need them!!!!**

**I hope you love the story as much as I do!!!**

**Love, Cahryn K.**


	2. Thorned Memories

Bella and Edward are broken. Thrown into each other's paths, stumbling and afraid, can they realize before it's too late that fate just may have a twin named destiny? Rated M for some mature themes and descriptive scenes. Non canon pairings at first, but no worries! I am one hundred percent Edward/Bella!!!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of the characters mentioned in the Saga. I do, however, thank Stephenie Meyer from the bottom of my heart for allowing us passage into her alternate universe where we can escape the reality of our lives for however long we need to, and for giving us these two beautiful characters to fall in love with: Edward and Bella. (and in my case, Jasper as well.)**

* * *

Ransom

Chapter 1: Thorned Memories

Bella POV

I couldn't help but take the rain as some sort of sign. Of course, rain was inevitable in Forks, but today, it only made me more depressed. It matched the mood of all of us here—dreary, dark, and forsaken.

And it was all my fault.

The tears blurred and mingled on my cheeks with the drops that pelted from the sky, tangling my hair and leaving it hanging in wet, stringy blobs that stuck to my shoulders and neck. Angela would have had a fit if she'd seen me like this.

"God, Bella," she would have said. "Can't you put a little effort into at least _pretending_ you care how you look?"

I would have laughed and shaken my head emphatically. Then she would have dragged me indoors and set to work on me instantly with a blow dryer and hairbrush, while I protested and pretended to be annoyed.

But she wasn't seeing me like this. And now she never would.

I looked down at the rose in my hand. The petals were beautiful, I supposed, with the raindrops glistening on them, but I was blind to beauty now. The only thing that had made my life beautiful was gone.

I didn't dare lift my eyes higher than a few inches. I could see the black Prada pumps standing across from me, and knew what hate I'd see in the eyes that were just a few feet more above them. So I kept my eyes down, where I wished they could stay for the rest of my life.

"As we bring her to her final resting place, on this, the thirteenth day of June, we open the floor to the family members of Angela Denise Weber to say their parting words, and cast their flowers on her casket."

As Phil stepped forward first to say his piece, my mind was sucked backward into a whirlpool of memories of happier days, everything ranging from the day I first met Angie to the fateful night that tore her out of my life forever.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Angela, Lauren, Bella! Come downstairs!" Mom's voice echoed through the house, loud and clear. It had a ring of importance to it, as though there were some sort of news she was going to tell us.

Angela and I looked at each other, both of us detecting the note of excitement in her voice. She grinned at me.

"Sounds like something's up," she said, dropping her pen on the desk where she had been sitting by the window and pushing her chair out. I nodded and plunked my copy of Wuthering Heights onto the bedside table, getting up to follow her out the door. The battered binding slumped to the table where it landed.

We nearly collided with Lauren in the hall, coming out of her room. She had her cell phone glued to her ear, and babbled away as she cut in front of us to go down the staircase.

"Ugh, _Lauren,_" Angela complained, rolling her eyes. Lauren flipped her the middle finger as she went down the stairs.

"I swear," Angela muttered under her breath. "If she wasn't my flesh and blood I would have killed her years ago."

"And the reason why you won't let _me_ do it is what, again?" I asked her.

"Because she's my flesh and blood," she replied. "Plus, if you go to jail, who am I going to stay up late and eat strawberry ice cream and watch _Save The Last Dance_ with?"

I laughed and tugged on a lock of her honey brown hair. "True," I agreed.

We rounded the corner and entered the family room to find Mom and Phil seated on the cream sofa across from the entertainment center. Lauren sat crossways on the matching loveseat, one leg stretched haphazardly over the armrest, her blood red polished toenails wiggling in the air. She still chattered away on her phone.

"So, Renee, what's the scoop? The juicy news—the latest gossip in the family? The urgent crisis that so vitally required our presence here—that summoned me away from my higher calling?" Angela joked, plopping herself down into the Lazy Boy armchair. I settled onto the floor next to her legs and leaned back. Jake, our collie, shuffled over to me and rested his head on my lap. My fingers wandered over on their own and scratched him behind the ears, and he let out a contented snort.

Mom smiled at us. "And what higher calling is this," she asked, going along with the game, "that is so much more pressing than thy duty to thy family?"

Angie turned her nose up into the air and imitated a British accent. "Why, my creative purpose, of course. I have been chosen to outshine the very likes of Shakespeare in my life's path."

We burst out into a round of giggles, Phil chuckling heartily along. Jake looked up and barked twice. It was always a family joke; we loved to tease Angela about her poetry. She lived to write.

Calming down, Mom turned to Phil. She gave him a pointed look.

He cleared his throat loudly, looking in turn at Lauren. She glanced up and sighed dramatically when she caught sight of the expression on his face. It was clear what he meant.

_Hang up the phone._

She rolled her eyes. "Emily, I've gotta talk to you later. Dad's got me coming to some sort of family meeting. . . Yeah, I know. I'll call you back as soon as it's done. And don't you dare call Brittany without me—okay, bye." She snapped the phone shut, smacked her gum, and rested her head on her hand. "Yeah, Dad?"

Mom began. "We have some important news for you girls. It concerns the whole family, so that's why we wanted you all here at once."

Lauren sighed and dragged her leg down off the armrest to sit in an upright position. She made a point of looking as bored as possible.

"Okay, Renee, enough with the small-talk. Can we get to the point here?" Angela asked nervously.

"Well, it's good news, actually, so not to worry," Mom said encouragingly, patting her husband on his hand. "Phil has been offered a raise by his department—of six thousand dollars per year!"

Lauren's gaze shot up from where she had been studying her manicure, suddenly interested. I groaned internally. "Really?"

Phil nodded, a huge smile lighting his face.

"That's great, Dad," Angela and Lauren said together, while I said, "Cool, Phil."

"But," he continued where Mom had left off. "There is a condition to the raise."

All three of us girls tensed. Of course there was a condition. There were always dark sides to the things that seemed to be bright. We should have known it was too good to be true.

"I'm being moved to a larger firm in Seattle, where the city's top detective just died of cancer a few weeks back. They need someone as a replacement, and J&S felt that I was the best candidate for the job. It'll require some additional training, but that should be completed in a few months, and best of all, the raise takes effect as soon as we move. But we'll be living in a smaller town nearby called Forks; there's an adorable house there that Renee simply fell in love with and _had _to have."

We all stared at him, open mouthed.

Well. At least it wasn't Alaska. Who knew what the homicide rate among polar bears could be these days?

"Aw, come on, it's not that bad," he said after none of us had moved for about a minute.

Lauren was the first to regain control of her facial muscles.

"Not _that bad?_" She fumed. "Not that bad. Oh no. I just have to leave where I've grown up at, all of my friends I've known all my life, _and_ the new guy I just started dating, to move to some random town out West that's named after a _utensil_, for God's sake. That's not that bad _at all._"

"Lauren," Phil said firmly, locking his jaw like he often did when he was aggravated.

"We understand that it will be a major adjustment, but we _have_ thought this through, and feel that it's what will be best for the whole family. We'll still have relatives here, so if you're really that miserable, you can come back and live with Peter and Charlotte."

"Ugh, no, I hate their son Seth," Lauren made a gagging face.

"Besides," he continued. "You're only fifteen. You don't need to be dating anyone."

"Ugh!" Lauren screeched in frustration, throwing her hands down at her sides in fists.

This was a conversation that they had had five times too many in the past two years, always ending with the same result—that Lauren dumped the guy she was with to please Phil and picked up a new one within a week.

"Can _I_ stay with them?" I asked under my breath. I hadn't meant for them to hear me, but Mom answered anyway.

"No, Bella. You're a part of this family, and we're all going to give this a try together first. After we've seen what it's like, then we'll move on from there."

I sighed.

Lauren sulked. "May I be excused now?" she asked sourly. Phil nodded at her, rather curtly. I could see that she was wearing on his nerves. She got up, tossing her dark curly hair over her shoulder, and flounced off up the stairs, pulling out her cell phone from her pocket as she went.

We all watched her leave.

Angela blew out a long breath. "Well, this is big," she said quietly.

Mom nodded. "Yes, it is."

"So, when are we leaving?" I ventured to ask, not sure if I really wanted to hear the answer.

"In a month's time. We'll have everything set up and you girls enrolled in the local high school by then," Phil replied.

Well.

"I see," I said. "Well, please excuse me too. I've got to go and. . .finish what I was doing. . .earlier." My sentence trailed off, broken ended and haphazard.

"Go ahead," Mom said. It was at times like this that I loved her. She understood when I was on overload and needed time to myself, a few minutes to sort things out and let them sink in. I made a mental note to thank her later, when Phil wasn't around.

I stood up numbly and walked up the stairs, barely feeling the carpet under my feet. Angela trailed along behind me.

When we reached our room, I flung open the door and threw myself face-down on the bed on my side of the room. When we were younger, we used to have bunk beds, but Angela and I complained too much over who got to sleep in the top one, so Phil and my mom finally got fed up and just bought us two twin sized frames.

"This sucks," I mumbled into the pillow.

"Tell me about it," Angela whispered. "And only a month's notice? Seriously, couldn't they have done better than that?"

I groaned.

When we had moved into this house at first, we'd loved it from the start. We'd moved in the week before our parents got married, when we were all seven years old. Angela and Lauren were twins, daughters of Phil Weber, who'd gotten divorced from their mother, Jessica, when the girls were five. At that same time, my dad, Charlie, who was Chief of Police here in Phoenix, was killed in a shootout on a drug raid that his department had gone on.

My mom had been devastated, and I was, too. I would miss the ice-creams every day after he picked me up from kindergarten, and the hours on the tire swing in the back yard as he pushed me. Charlie was a great dad; even in the few short years I knew him, he managed to stack up a whole pile of memories for me to cherish.

Phil had worked in the department under my dad's supervision, and they had been good friends. When he was killed, Phil became like a support group for my mom, making sure she had what she needed for me and helping her out with grocery shopping, even though at the time he was going through a nasty divorce.

His wife, Jessica, had cheated on him, and he'd caught her in the act. Angela always told me that Lauren took after Jessica completely, not only in her looks, but in the way she behaved, attitude, personality and all. Angela took after Phil entirely. In her looks, mostly, but especially her sweet, sensible temper.

As time passed and Phil helped my mom through the grieving process, she began to realize she was falling for him, and he for her. They sorted that out between them in the strange way adults do, and when we were seven, they were married, and we moved into this big, comfortable house with the spacious lawn and enormous pool in the back yard.

Angela and I had grown close, the two of us being more similar than her and her sister. Lauren had always been mean; stingy with her toys and ice cream, calling us names and even fighting with us when she didn't get her way. We banded together against the evil force of Lauren. It was how we got by.

Now we were faced with leaving the house where we had spent the last nine years of our lives, building memories of our own, and basically doing most of our growing up. It would be tough to just walk away and leave it all behind.

* * * * * * * * * * ** * * ** * * *

The month passed all too quickly, and before we knew it, we were packed on the plane headed to Forks. Jake had been shipped ahead and would be waiting for us in a kennel when we arrived.

The flight wasn't unbearably long, but just long enough for me to fall asleep and wake up disoriented and grouchy. Surprisingly, I slept through the landing, but was awakened by the loud applause from everyone in the plane once it had rolled to a stop.

I dragged myself out of my seat and into the aisle, rubbing my eyes and blinking away the sleep. Pulling my carry-on bag out of the overhead compartment, I stumbled groggily after Angela towards the exit.

The rest of the work with getting our luggage passed in a blur; I never fully woke up.

Until we stepped outside the airport.

As I took in my surroundings, I felt immediate disgust begin to churn in my stomach.

Monstrous trees loomed on either side of the road, with thick, bright green moss covering their trunks. The stones that lined the walkway down to where the taxis waited were smothered with said moss. The very telephone poles were covered with the same shade of startling green.

And worst of all, the beautiful, clear, blue sky of Phoenix, Arizona had been transformed to a murky ceiling that was covered by a blanket of the grayest, foggiest, ugliest rain clouds I had ever seen.

And it was raining.

I hadn't seen rain in three months.

And it was _freezing_.

I could tell right away I would hate it here.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

We reached the house, a quaint, antique little thing that looked like something out of a _Better Homes and Gardens_ magazine. I had to admit, as I squinted up through the rain, it did have a certain charm. I could see why my mother liked it.

The house gave you a sort of feeling of just _being home_ when you looked at it. As though you'd returned from a long stay away, and it was just waiting for you to come back, keeping everything just the way you remembered it. It was a dingy white, with dark green shutters and an old oak wood door. A square porch jutted out in front of it, weathered, but well taken care of. At least there wasn't moss growing on that.

A small patch of lawn surrounded the house on all four sides, stretching out towards where the forest began to encroach on the property in the backyard.

I decided that I could like the house, at least.

Phil lugged the baggage up onto the porch, and with a grand sweep of his arm, he bowed.

"Here it is, ladies. The Weber Mansion."

Lauren rolled her eyes. "Ugh, Dad, you are so cheesy, it's sad." She smacked her ever present gum. "And we left the Weber mansion along with society back in Phoenix," she added under her breath.

Phil just smiled at her, not to be dampened by her pessimism. He fumbled a bit and managed to get the keys out from the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Only to keep my girls entertained," he replied, unlocking and opening the front door. I picked up my two suitcases and hoisted my duffel bag onto my shoulder, as we marched in single file through the door past Phil's outstretched arm.

The inside of the house matched the outside with its charm. After a short hallway, a small kitchen painted a happy shade of yellow greeted us on the left. To the right, a still rather empty living room presented itself, in a shade of cream that would perfectly match the furniture that would come out of storage in the next few days. We continued straight ahead to the dark wooden staircase in front of us.

Lauren was at the head of the line, but when she reached the top, she dropped her bags and groaned.

"Oh, _come on,_" she whined.

"What?" Angela asked. I strained to peek around all of her bags, but it was a hopeless case, so I was forced to wait until they decided to either move out of the way or say what on earth the matter was.

"We have to _share a bathroom_," Lauren complained.

Angela bristled. "_That's_ what you stopped us here in the middle of the stairs for? Get a grip, girl. I'm holding three suitcases with two hands that weigh about a hundred pounds each. _Move._"

Lauren sucked her teeth and picked up her bags again, thankfully keeping it moving without another word. She took the bedroom to the right of the bathroom, and I nudged Angela.

"Let's just take that one over there and not argue, okay?" I gestured with my elbow down the hall. Angela nodded, and we rounded the corner and pushed open the door.

We were greeted by a full sized bed straight ahead, and a sofa pushed into one corner of the room. On the left was a desk with a computer on it, prepared for when school would start in a week's time.

"Looks like we'll be sharing a bed," Angela murmured.

"Okay, cool," I replied, gladly dropping my heavy suitcases in a dangerous pile in the middle of the floor. I shuffled over to the bed and collapsed, the drowsiness taking me over again.

"I call right side of the bed," I mumbled unintelligibly, and felt a bounce as Angela jumped onto the bed next to me.

"I call left."

The last thing I heard before I fell asleep was the soft sound of Angela's snores mixing with the patter of the rain on the windowpane.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

School wasn't the dreadful experience I'd expected it to be.

Angela sat by my side in all of my classes, except gym, where our last names separated us in our floor seating arrangements. I had kept my father's last name, Swan, rather than having it changed to Weber when my mother married Phil. I wanted to keep that small piece of Dad alive.

I didn't know what strings my mom had pulled, but for me and Ang to have every class together was pure heaven. We joked about the preppy girls and their short skirts, cracked ourselves up over the ridiculous amounts of gel in the hair of the jocks, and talked so much that on the first day we ended up getting a phone call home from our Spanish teacher, Mrs. Castillo.

Phil and Mom laughed it off, but warned us to get our act together quickly or we'd be in trouble for sure.

They didn't play around when it came to education, so Angela and I buckled down and paid attention in class—most of the time.

The months flew by quickly, a blur of blissful rainy days. None of the boys in school appeared interested in me, though they all flocked to Angela's side. Lauren was a given, too. She only had to step into a room and all eyes turned to her.

Angela and Lauren were equally gorgeous, both stunning to look at. I compared to them the way a broken tricycle compares to a brand new motorbike.

So it was no surprise that when junior prom rolled around in June, both Lauren and

Angela had been asked to go, and I hadn't.

I tried not to let it get to me, but it still stung. What was it about me that wasn't good enough? I couldn't say that I was beautiful, because I wasn't, but not _one guy_?

Well, such is life.

It was late May when Angela bounced up to me.

"Guess what?" she squealed.

"What?" I replied, although it came out more like, "Whuff?"

I had my mouth full of pizza at that precise moment. We were at our sixth period lunch, and I was sitting at our usual table in the corner of the cafeteria, where I'd been waiting for her to come off the lunch line. She always took longer than everyone else, because she could never decide what it was she wanted to eat that day.

No matter what she ate, though, she never gained an ounce. Just another way life found to be unfair. But it was Ang. I couldn't be jealous.

Or I could pretend not to be.

She slid into the bench beside me and clapped her hands together. I could tell she was dying to tell me her news. I took another bite of the pizza and waited.

"Oh my God, Bella. You won't believe this. . ._Ben _just asked me to prom!"

It was a good thing I had my mouth full so I had an excuse not to answer her at once. It gave me a moment to let my next words be true.

I swallowed my food. "That's great, Ang! I'm so happy for you. What did you say?"

She ducked her head and blushed. "Well, I told him I'd think about it."

"What?" I looked at her with genuine shock on my face. "Are you insane? Why would you tell him that?"

"Well, for two reasons, mainly. One, I wanted to pass out right there on the spot with joy, and two, I wanted to find out first if you had anyone to go with. Do you?" She craned her neck to look me in the eye, since I'd conveniently begun digging through my book bag on the other side of me for the Chapstick that I was sure I had dropped somewhere in there this morning.

"Bells. Do you?" she repeated, when I didn't answer.

I gave up on finding the Chapstick. "Huh?" I faked, looking up innocently as though I had just heard what she'd said.

"I said, do you have a date for the prom?"

"No, I'm not going," I replied quickly. The truth was, I _had_ been planning on going until that exact moment in time. I had hoped—half-heartedly—that by some miraculous incident, Angela wouldn't get asked to the prom and she and I could go stag together. But of course, the world doesn't work that way. The beautiful girls always get the guys.

And I wasn't beautiful, so I wouldn't be getting a guy. End of story.

So I wasn't going to prom.

"Why not?" Angela asked incredulously.

"I don't want to go," I said simply, and stuffed my mouth again, this time with the crust of the pizza. That should take longer to chew.

"Bella. This is _prom_. You _have_ to go."

I shook my head.

"You don't have a date."

I resisted the urge to swallow. I wasn't going to answer that.

"Bella, if this is about you not having a date for the dance, just tell me. I won't go with Ben."

Tempting as it sounded, it wouldn't be fair to her. Still. . .I could imagine her and I dancing the night away, making the other girls jealous. . .I kept chewing, although there was nothing left but mush in my mouth by this time.

"Swallow your food, Bella. I know your tricks. Listen, I won't go with him. We'll go together. You and me. I'll be your hot date," she batted her eyelashes at me, trying to cheer me up.

I inhaled through my nose and finally swallowed the porridge-like substance that was in my mouth. I bought myself some more time by taking a long swig of orange juice from the bottle that was in front of me, and then slowly turned to face her.

"You can't do that, Ang," I said, letting out a breath of air.

"And why not?" she challenged.

"Because it wouldn't be right. You've had a crush on this guy since we moved here and you first laid eyes on him. If your dream is about to come true and you're getting the chance to go to prom with him, I'd be the worst sister in the world if I were to mess that

up for you."

Angela was immovable. "You're going with me."

So was I. "No, I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"Are."

"Not."

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period.

Angela sighed. "This is so not over yet, Bella."

I just picked up my tray and slung my bag over my shoulder, heading for the trash can and then the exit. I didn't plan on discussing it any further with her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday, June seventh, night of the Forks High School Prom. I was wrapped in a beautiful sheer blue layered silk gown, with my hair piled in hundreds of curls atop my head and silver strappy heels on my feet.

How Angela had convinced me to go, I wasn't exactly sure. It had involved something along the lines of begging/threats, and eventually, here I was, having pictures snapped of me like there was no tomorrow.

I _did_ feel beautiful.

"Oh Bella," my mother gushed. "You look so breathtaking!" She alternated between putting her hand over her mouth, heart, and the shutter of the camera to take another round of pictures.

"Of course she does, she's absolutely gorgeous," Phil agreed.

I blushed, feeling my cheeks heat up more with each compliment directed towards me.

Angela pinched my left cheek, grinning at me with her pearly whites. "Told you you'd look hot," she giggled, winking at me.

I turned another shade redder.

"Turn to your left, Bella, and Angela, you come up behind her—Lauren, go in front of her—that's right, all of you smile now," Mom directed, and another flash blinded me.

"Okay, now turn to face me, all of you," she ordered next. As I began to obey, my heel caught on the edge of my gown and I tripped, nearly taking Lauren down with me as I flailed about frantically for something to grab onto.

Thankfully, Phil stepped forward and caught me, just before I crashed into the expensive lamp on the side table next to the couch.

I knew these heels were a bad idea. Why had I wanted to go to prom in the first place?

"Oh, gosh, I'll probably fall and make a fool out of myself as soon as I walk into the place," I moaned.

"Probably," Lauren muttered under her breath. I shot her a hateful glance.

"Nonsense," Phil and Mom disagreed at the same time.

"A little clumsiness is a good thing. It keeps us from becoming too sure of ourselves," Phil continued.

"Uh-huh. Sure," I muttered. "Thanks," I added, smoothing out my dress again and making sure I was standing firmly with both feet on the ground this time.

"The limo's here," Lauren cried, dashing back from where she had been looking out of the window.

"Oh, wonderful," Mom said. "Well, let's hurry girls. Don't want to be late." She ushered us towards the door, being extra careful with me, I noticed.

"Don't be silly, Renee," Angela said with a beaming smile. "Haven't you ever heard of fashionably late? We'll be just in time to make a grand entrance and watch all the boys drop dead at Bella's feet."

I rolled my eyes. As if.

Mom laughed heartily. Her large, round belly barely moved, though, taut as it was with her eighth month of pregnancy.

"Okay, Renee, find something to do to keep yourself busy while we're rocking the night away, but whatever it is, don't drop that baby before we get back, or you're gonna be in some serious trouble, understood?" Angela shook her perfectly manicured finger at Mom.

Mom giggled like a schoolgirl and blushed, rubbing her circular belly. "I wouldn't worry about that. She's not due before the end of July, anyway."

"Just making sure," Angela said with a smile.

"Bye, Mom," I waved, and carefully turned to walk down the sidewalk, making sure the skirt of my dress was behind me at all times. I wasn't trying to fall flat on my face with the hot chauffeur watching me. Way to go down in his book of prom night stories.

The girl with the blue dress fell smack on her face and broke her nose, and then didn't get to go to prom after all. Ha ha.

I didn't think so.

I made it safely to the limo, but just as I was lifting my first foot in, I stubbed my toe on the edge of the car and stumbled, hitting my head on the roof.

"Ouch!"

"Are you okay, ma'am?" the driver asked, rushing to my side.

"Uh, yeah, I'm. . .fine," I replied quickly, wishing fervently that the ground would open underneath me and swallow me up asap.

I tried to avoid eye contact with him, but when his smooth hand slipped under my elbow to help me the rest of the way into the vehicle, the electric current that shot through me forced my eyes up to his.

They were the most amazing clear green I had ever seen in my life.

God, he was hot.

Why did he have to see me trip?

Because you're Bella. You're the definition of clumsy.

I hurriedly pulled my eyes away from his burning ones. I could feel sparks bouncing back and forth between our faces, and I ducked my head and slid into the limo as quickly as possible.

"Thank you," I muttered, beyond mortified.

"No problem, miss. Just be careful, next time. Wouldn't want to ruin your special night with a nasty fall." _That_ _smile_. He turned and moved to make way for the next person to get in.

My heart skipped six beats. His lips had curved up just a bit at one side, barely revealing what _had_ to be a row of perfect, sparkling teeth. His smell lingered around me inside the limo, a perfect mix of cinnamon and some unidentifiable musky spice. But then Angela climbed in, and her Fantasy by Britney Spears drowned it out. But not out of my memory.

"You okay, sis?" she asked, properly concerned.

"Just completely, utterly, and entirely humiliated. But I'll be alright in a few. Such is life, huh?"

"At least you didn't fall flat on your face," she offered.

"That would have been just my luck," I grimaced as my exact worries from earlier were voiced.

"Oh, don't worry. We'll dance the night away, and you'll be fine."

"I think I'm going to dance barefoot," I said.

"Over my dead body," Angela objected. I pouted. We would see.

Learning how to dance was one of the many perks of living with Angela Weber. She had made sure that I knew every move, how to sway my body to the rhythm, and even how to seduce. But I'd never tried it with anyone other than her as an audience.

And I'd certainly never tried it in heels.

I was going to die.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We were dropped off by the limo directly in front of the school gymnasium. The music coming from inside was loud enough that we could feel the reverberations from where we sat inside the limo.

Lauren, and then Angela, were first to get out of the car. The driver helped them step down, giving them each a polite nod and smile as they climbed out. He turned back and offered me his hand.

I made sure I gathered up the skirt of my dress nearly to my knees in an effort to avoid snagging my heels in it. Tripping once was bad enough—if I tripped twice, I was going to have to move to another state.

I carefully placed my hand in his and gingerly stepped out of the limo, taking extreme care with where I placed my feet. Once I had both firmly on solid ground, I risked a look at the beautiful face above my own.

His emerald eyes burned down into mine, and my breath faltered.

I watched in utter awe as he slowly raised my hand up to his face, and pressed his soft, perfectly shaped lips to my knuckles. His eyes never left mine.

"Have a wonderful evening, miss."

I worked to find my breath in time to answer him.

"Th-thank yo-u," I mumbled, feeling my cheeks heat up furiously. I began to turn away, flustered, but he didn't let go of my hand.

My eyes sought his once more. Once they connected, that same mesmerizing, crooked smile graced his face again, and my heart skipped four more beats.

And he winked.

I was going to faint.

Did I see right?

Maybe I had something in my eye. It must be all that mascara Angela insisted on layering on me. It was messing with my vision.

He didn't—he just _winked at me._

He let go of my hand and stepped back, bowing slightly before straightening back up and resting his arm on the door of the limo, preparing to close it.

I fought the strong urge I felt to melt into an oozing puddle at his feet and gathered up my dress quickly, before I could embarrass myself further. I turned and hurried to catch up to Angela.

She was waiting for me by the door of the gym, a smirk on her face.

I stumbled up to her, dazed.

"I saw that," she said smugly. I looked at her blankly for a moment before my brain cooperated enough to react properly.

It reacted by flushing my cheeks bright pink again. Any excuse I could have come up with was now kaput.

"He's definitely hot," Angela prompted, nudging me with her elbow.

"He is," I agreed dreamily, still not quite there.

His eyes had captivated me in a way that no one else had ever come close to doing. And I could have sworn there were actual sparks flying back and forth between us. You just had to be close enough to be able to see them.

"You should get his number on our way back home tonight," she suggested.

That sobered me quickly. "What? No, Ang. I can't do that. He doesn't—he wouldn't—he— I," I fumbled for the right words.

"Oh please, Bella," Angela cut me off. "Did you _see_ the way he looked at you? The guy's infatuated. Go for it."

"No," I shook my head. Angela rolled her eyes.

"Always so stubborn."

"Always." My sarcastic side kicked back into gear.

We meandered our way around the circular tables that were artfully set up around the gym, covered by gold and white tablecloths. Hunter green and gold napkins decorated the tables, and matching balloons bounced randomly around the slick floors while white fairy lights sparkled and blinked from the ceilings.

"Hey, Ang, hey Bella," a voice greeted us from behind. We turned to find a girl we both knew from our History class. She sat in the row behind us and was often part of our group when the class worked together on projects.

"Hey Amber," Angela gushed. "You look gorgeous, oh my gosh, I _love_ your dress!"

"Me too," I said. "Really. You look like, a nymph or a goddess straight out of Greek mythology or something."

Her cream strapless gown was covered in ivory lace and hugged her body delicately, accentuating her curves. Her makeup was flawless, and her perfectly straight hair, the color of wheat, seemed to glow effervescently in the radiance cast around by the fairy lights.

Amber blushed and smiled. "Thanks, you two look really great, too."

I smiled in appreciation.

Angela's dress was three shades of lavender, beginning at the top with a hue that was nearly white, and becoming a rich purple at the ankles. It went beautifully with her honey brown hair and hazel eyes.

"Where's Donovan?" I asked, looking around the gym.

"Right here," came a voice as the man in question sidled up beside Amber, slipping a drink into her hand. "Here you are, darling."

Amber and Donovan had been together for two and a half years, and were the most popular couple in Forks High. She sighed and leaned into him, rubbing his arm that was wrapped around her waist.

"You girls look good," he complimented us.

"Thanks," I replied.

"We always do," Angela smiled and winked at him. He chuckled.

"I saw your friend Lisa somewhere around here earlier," he said to Angela, stealing a sip from Amber's punch. She slapped his hand that was snaked around her waist.

"Really?" Ang's eyes scanned the room like a radar. She spotted Lisa next to one of the thumping speakers dancing with a boy we didn't know too well. I remembered hearing that his name was Mike or something generic of that sort.

Angela grabbed my arm and we were off at once, headed over to accost more people.

We stopped a few feet away from Lisa and waited until the song finished before talking to her. We'd have to shout over the loud music coming from the speaker right next to us.

She danced closely with Mike, first high, then low, and then twirled her arm around his neck and dipped herself to the ground, coming back up slowly. She turned to face him and their hips gyrated in sync as they locked eyes. I watched as his hand slowly crept up her thigh and came to rest on the small of her back.

"Dang, Lisa and Mike have definitely got the hots for each other," Angela shouted in my ear. I nodded, not taking my eyes off the display in front of me. I'd have to make a mental note not to dance with him if he was planning on taking advantage of girls that way.

The song finally came to an end, and Lisa stepped away from Mike, coming towards us.

She tossed her long, jet black hair over her shoulder and threw a flirtatious glance at Mike as he went off to get them both something to drink.

"Gorgeous dress," Angela complimented Lisa.

"Thanks, it's vintage," she replied, twirling to give us a full view of the short black minidress made entirely of lace. It showed sneaks of her olive toned skin underneath. "I got it at a thrift store in New York for twenty dollars."

I wondered if the trip to New York hadn't cost enough to make up for what she saved on the dress.

Just then, _Just Dance _by Lady Gaga came over the speakers, and all the girls flooded out onto the dance floor. It immediately became crowded on the small area of gymnasium floor that wasn't taken up by round tables and chairs. Bodies rocked to the sound as strobe lights began to flash in multicolors, illuminating people's skin and hair in psychedelic ways.

The song happened to be one of my and Angela's personal favorites. We'd spent hours in our room, jamming to it, _Poker Face, _and _Right Round _by Flo Rida.

I couldn't help it.

All my shyness melted away, and heels or no heels, I lost myself in the music.

Angela was right beside me, and we threw our hands in the air and belted out the lyrics at the top of our lungs along with everyone else.

_Just dance_

_Gonna be okay _

_Da da doo doo mmm_

_Just dance_

_Spin that record babe_

_Da da doo doo mmm_

The song switched, and I felt a form slide up behind me and begin to sway to the beat. I looked quickly over at Angela, and she gave me a thumbs up. I made a face at her.

"Who is it?" I mouthed.

"Eric," she mouthed back. I gave a tiny shrug and allowed myself to fall into the flow of the movements. I didn't know Eric well, but he was good looking— black spiky hair and blue eyes— and a pretty good dancer too, it turned out.

I caught a glimpse of Mike eyeing me and him as we danced lower to the floor. He was dancing with Lisa again, I saw.

Two songs later, Mike stood in front of me. "Mind if I get a turn at the wheel?" he asked with a devilish grin.

I remembered my resolve not to dance with him after I'd seen the way he tried to cop illegal feels on Lisa. "No thanks, I'm fine where I'm at," I told him.

Eric stopped moving. "It's alright, I don't mind," he offered, stepping away from me.

_Traitor._

"What's the matter?" Mike asked tauntingly, a dangerous glint in his hazel eyes. "Afraid you can't keep up?"

I bristled. "_Please_. I'd dance in circles around you. _And _all of your little friends," I rolled my eyes for added effect.

I had one fatal character flaw. Although I might whine and complain when urged to do something, I never turned down an outright dare or challenge. I was never second best at anything I set out to do. I never would be, and I didn't appreciate the insinuation that I was.

Maybe I'd gotten over my shy streak for good. Perhaps I was just feeling empowered by the fact that Eric had decided to come and dance with me, and now Mike wanted to, too.

I decided to put to use all of Angela's tutoring in flirtation. He wanted to test me? He had it coming.

I stepped towards him firmly, locking eyes with him, until my face was a hairsbreadth away from his. "You wanna have a go at it?" I asked just low enough that only he could hear me. "Then let's see what you've got."

His grin grew even wider as he looked down at me. I could see the excitement and lust building in his eyes.

"So come on then," he said, grabbing my hand and moving backwards, away from Eric and Angela, who were watching intently. I knew I would hear about my performance when we reached home that night; dissected and minutely scrutinized down to the last movement.

The next song started, and the irony of how well it fit my current predicament stunned me.

It was one of Rihanna's hits, _Shut Up and Drive._

_I've been looking for a driver who is qualified_

_So if you think that you're the one step into my ride_

_I'm a fine tuned supersonic speed machine_

_Got a sunroof top and a gangster lead_

_So if you feel me let me know, know, know_

_Come on now, what you waiting for, for, for_

_My engine's ready to explode, explode, explode_

_So start me up and watch me go, go, go._

I was feeling incredibly high on myself. Adrenaline, perhaps? Whatever it was, I was absolutely loving it.

I pressed my chest against his, and rolled my body down along the front of him. I could see that he loved every second of it. And, much to my surprise, I wanted to continue. I liked this feeling of being in control and showing off what I had. Angela was proud of me, I could feel it. I turned around and pressed my backside into his front, bending over. I caught a glimpse of Ang's face, beaming from ear to ear and gave her a wink. Mike's hand trailed up my back to grip my shoulder and push me further down. I obliged, wanting to flaunt my flexibility. His hand wandered to my waist as we moved in time to the music.

I straightened up, not wanting to give him the opportunity to take a mile when I'd only given him an inch. I played it off by turning to face him again and taking his hand, entwining my fingers with his and raising it up in the air as I stepped away from him, keeping my eyes locked on his and allowing a half smile to play around my lips. His eyes were hungry now, I could see.

Time to call it quits.

Thankfully, the song ended then, and I released his hand and backed away slowly with a wink. Then I turned away and flipped my dark curls over my shoulder as I made my way back to Angela and Lisa.

They went insane when I reached them, screaming and clapping and hi-fiving me.

"You go, girl," Lisa told me appreciatively.

"Way to show him, sis. You rendered him speechless. He's still standing there gawking after you," Angela giggled. I blushed fiercely when I saw that nearly everyone had gathered around for our little spectacle.

I grabbed Angela and Lisa's hands and we began dancing to the next jam, by Rihanna also, _Please Don't Stop the Music_.

Before I knew it, the clock was striking eleven thirty, and I frowned.

I tugged on Ang's shawl. "The limo should be here in fifteen minutes," I told her.

"Alright," she shouted over the thundering beat of the music, not worried at all. I knew

I'd have to remind her again once the ride actually arrived.

Twenty minutes later, I checked my cell phone again, and saw that it read 11:50pm.

"Ang," I said, when _Glamorous_ by Fergie ended. "Come on, the limo should be outside by now. We'll have to pay extra if we keep it waiting."

She paused for a moment and looked at me intently. I felt my cheeks turn hot.

"What?" I asked warily.

"You want to see the driver again, don't you? That's why you're in such a hurry to get out of here," she smirked, thinking she had seen right through me.

She had.

I'd successfully buried myself in the bliss of the music, enjoying myself to the fullest, but I couldn't avoid the pesky thought that kept creeping back into my mind. . .I wished that the boys I'd danced with had been the limo driver.

How idiotic.

I didn't even know his name.

He didn't even know mine.

Maybe I could introduce myself. What would I say? "Hi, I'm Bella. I think you're gorgeous, and you have the most mesmerizing green eyes I've ever seen." Not likely.

"No. . .," I said slowly, in response to Angela's question.

"Uh-huh. Okay. Whatever you say. You suck at lying, missy. Don't think I can't see right through you," she said with a knowing smile. It irked me a little, how I couldn't get away with anything. But it was Angela. She knew me so well, even if I had been a master con artist she would have seen right through my tricks.

"So. . .since you have me all figured out, I suppose you know how I'll react in about the next three minutes if we don't go check to see if the limo's here, right?" I asked, eyeing her with mock superiority.

"Yes. You'll throw a miniature hissy fit and then leave me in here to go out and check for yourself."

Crap. She did know me. I tried to argue, nonetheless. "I won't throw a miniature hissy fit," I denied.

"I don't want to leave just yet. I think I'll stick around for three or four more songs and then we can go. The car company won't mind. We _are_ paying them," Angela said nonchalantly and turned to go back to dancing with Lisa.

I felt frustration rise up within me. "_Angela_," I hissed. "Come on, that's not a responsible thing to do. If we're going to take more time, we should at least go and let them know that they'll have to wait." She ignored me. I huffed and flounced out—rather fought my way out through the swarm of writhing bodies—towards the exit.

When I stepped out into the night air, it was positively freezing. The one thing about Forks that I had never gotten used to was the abnormally cold weather when it was supposed to be warm. It was June, for crying out loud. I wrapped my silk shawl around my shoulders and walked down the path to the curb.

I looked left and right, but didn't see any signs of an elongated black Chrysler 300 anywhere along the street. I checked my phone.

12:03am.

Where was the limo?

I frowned and shivered. Pulling the shawl a little tighter around me, not that it afforded me much protection from the lowered temperature, I turned and headed back inside the thumping building.

"Angela," I said once I had made my way over to her. "The limo's not here."

She stopped dancing and frowned thoughtfully. "That's odd. They're supposedly the best service in all of Forks. . .Dad went all out for us. And they haven't called to say anything?"

"You were the one who didn't care about being responsible to let people know you would be late just five minutes ago," I reminded her. She waved that away dismissively with a flick of her wrist.

Just then, the cell phone started vibrating in my bag. I dug in and pulled it out. It was a one eight hundred number. "I guess that's them," I said, flicking the phone open. Angela snatched it from me quickly and began making her way towards the exit, farther away from the loud music. I followed quickly behind.

"Hello?"

She paused, and I watched her face intently, trying to decipher what was happening on the other end.

"Yes, that's us," she said impatiently. Then her face grew truly worried.

"Ang," I whispered, knowing she couldn't hear me.

"Really? And no replacements?. . . I see. Well, we won't be needing to pay for the latter half of tonight's service then, am I correct? . . .Of course. Thank you, you have a good evening too." She snapped the phone closed and turned to look at me.

"We're stranded."

"What?" I couldn't stop the squeak that escaped my lips.

"Yep. With Dad's car in the shop, there's no one to come pick us up."

"What happened?" I asked.

Angela sighed. "Our limo driver got called out on an emergency, and they were booked for tonight. Apparently June seventh was a popular date for prom nights. They have no back up drivers or anything like that, so we're going to have to find our own way home."

I nodded numbly. This sucked rabbit toes.

"Do you have any idea who we can get a ride with?" Angela asked me, her eyebrows raised worriedly.

"Uh, not really. Everyone I can think of came in their own limo, and as a group, too. Meaning their limo's are full."

Angela's eyes flickered suddenly upward, focusing on something behind me. I turned around. Eric stood behind me, concern in his blue eyes.

"Are you girls alright? Why are you standing here looking all upset?" he asked.

"Our limo had some sort of emergency and can't come to pick us up again," Angela sighed. Eric raised his eyebrow.

"Your _limo_ had an emergency?"

Angela flushed. "The driver," she amended.

Eric chuckled. "I see. Well, I came with Tyler and a few of our other friends in his minivan, so if you girls would like, there's some extra space for a few more—especially a few more as good looking as you two."

I blushed. Thankfully the lights were dim, so he couldn't see.

"We came with my other sister, too," Angela pointed out.

"Who, Lauren?" Eric asked. "We can make room for her too. That's no problem. I'll just go tell the guys, and we were getting ready to leave anyway." He smiled and began to walk away.

"You should probably go find Lauren and let her know," I said to Angela. She nodded and meandered off through the throng of bodies again in search of her twin. I stood near the door, feeling the icy breeze blow in as I waited for them to return.

A few minutes later, a staggering Tyler came stumbling towards me, nearly tripping over his own feet and leaning on Mike for support. He was laughing uncontrollably at something Ben had said, who brought up the rear with Eric.

Eric looked over at me. "Where's your sister?"

I glanced around the crowd, squinting against the strobe lights that flashed across my eyes every few seconds. "She went to find Lauren. They should be here soon, I guess."

"Oh."

About a minute later, Angela returned with Lauren in tow. Lauren looked annoyed at having to leave until her eyes fell on Tyler. She perked up instantly and sashayed over to him.

"Hi, Tyler," she crooned. "I didn't know you were going to be the charming gentleman driving us home tonight."

He laughed again and threw his arm shakily around her shoulder. "Anything for you, gorgeous."

"Anything?" she asked, running her hand down his chest. He licked his lips.

"Anything, babe."

I thought I might be sick.

They stumbled off, leading the way to his car, still whispering and giggling. The rest of us followed behind, trailing along slowly.

When we reached the parking lot and saw which car they stopped at, I immediately began having second thoughts. I hurried to catch up to Eric.

"I thought you said you came in his minivan," I stage-whispered, pointing to the small SUV they had begun gathering around.

"Minivan, SUV, same thing," Eric muttered. "They all hold plenty of people."

"No, they don't," I argued. "A minivan holds eight. This SUV holds five. There are seven of us."

"So you can sit on my lap," he suggested. I looked at him in shock.

"Look, do you want to get home or not?" he asked, suddenly rude. I was a bit taken aback, considering how kind and concerned he had seemed earlier. Jerk.

"Fine," I muttered, climbing in after him.

When we were all situated, with Tyler behind the wheel, Lauren in the front seat having called shotgun, me on Eric's lap and Angela on Ben's—Mike was a loner and I was _not_ about to sit on his lap— we pulled out of the lot at ridiculous speeds and swung onto the highway at the first ramp leading in.

Mike reached over Angela's lap to put a CD into the radio. She sat in the middle. _Let It Rock_ by Kevin Rudolf and Lil' Wayne began blasting over the speakers.

"Oh, yeah!" Tyler shouted, speeding up and cutting in front of another car that was going too slow for his taste. I cringed as we swerved in front of it.

"Ang, don't you think we're going a little too fast?" I whispered in her ear quietly. She nodded back at me, but made a helpless face.

"Beggars can't be choosers, though."

I sighed and clutched my purse tighter as we dodged in and out between two more cars.

Fifteen minutes later, I glanced out of the window and saw that the sky, which had been clear for once tonight, was clouding over and muggy-looking. I hoped that the rain wouldn't fall before we got home so the time Angela had spent on my hair wouldn't be in vain. She'd fussed and fluffed with a hair dryer and comb for nearly three and a half hours. Ordinarily, I didn't make a big deal over my appearance, but tonight, I felt pretty, and didn't want to ruin that impression with stringy, fuzzy hair and streaked mascara.

Of course, because my luck could never stick around for more than ten minutes at a time, ten minutes later it began to rain.

The water came down in drizzles at first, barely slicking the road we were driving on. I sat uneasily in Eric's lap, feeling his hands that were wrapped a little too tightly around my waist. Music continued to play loudly from the surround speakers, but I could still hear the inebriated laughter coming from the front of the car. Tyler leaned over to whisper something into a giggling Lauren's ear. I watched with distaste how close he was; how his thin, pale lips brushed against the strands of hair next to her ear. I couldn't for the life of me understand what she saw worth liking in him.

I looked away, annoyed, out of the windshield.

And saw the yellow center lines of the road take on a diagonal slant, moving quickly towards the right side of the car.

I tore my eyes away from the road and focused on the dimwit that was still chuckling in my stepsister's ear.

"Tyler!" I shouted, over the music. Beside me, Angela jumped. And, stupidly, Tyler turned completely around to look at me.

"Look at the road," I yelled frantically, pointing wildly toward the swiftly advancing line of spruce trees on the opposite side of the road. He swung his head back around, and realizing the danger, jerked the steering wheel back to the right.

He overcorrected.

The vehicle spun wildly out of control, doing a tailspin until it ended up facing the opposite direction we had been headed, back towards where we came, and _in_ the oncoming lane. I was falling off of Eric's lap as he tried to keep himself from falling out of the seat, and I slid down between the door and the edge of the chair, trapping my right arm in an awkward position that sent a jolt of pain from my elbow to my wrist.

The car skidded to a stop and for a brief second I thought the worst was over.

Now why would I think that?

Bright white lights suddenly flooded the car from behind. Disoriented, for a moment I thought that perhaps the police had showed up already. But didn't police have blue lights? And what was that loud sound that wouldn't stop? And that kept getting louder?

Within a split second, so fast I didn't have time to react, the loud sound was in my ears, deafening me, and the lights were upon us. A half second too late I realized that the loud sound I was hearing was that of a car horn approaching much too quickly. There was a smashing noise from behind me, and suddenly the car was moving again, this time headed for the rear of a red sedan I could see ahead and that was now moving toward us at a terrifying speed.

A gurgled scream broke from my throat as our car smashed into the one in front of us with jarring impact; the sudden sound of shattering glass drowning out my cry momentarily. The sound of grating metal ground to a stop, and then, just as quickly, everything was frighteningly silent.

I broke the silence pretty quickly.

"Aahh," I cried, trying to free myself from the cramped space I now found myself in, and unsuccessfully shove Eric's unconscious weight off me. I managed to maneuver my left arm between his shoulder and the passenger seat, hooking my fingers into the material of the chair. Using this for leverage, I pulled myself up slightly, so that I could see over his mass of tangled black hair.

I felt something warm trickling down the side of my cheek towards the corner of my mouth as my eyes swept the crumpled interior of the vehicle for my sister and best friend. I opened my mouth slightly and the warm liquid ran in, tasting of metal.

Blood.

It didn't matter to me. It didn't matter that I could barely keep my eyes open, and that my head pounded like a hundred bricks had been smashed against it, one by one. It didn't matter that my arm was still trapped in an unnatural position, bent back at the elbow and shooting daggers of pain through my body every time I tried to draw a breath. It didn't matter that Eric's head was laying between my breasts and I couldn't move enough to lift him away. None of that mattered to me in the slightest. I couldn't care less about any of these things.

Because Angela was not in the car.

Panic set in, and I found strength I didn't know I had until that day—and I've never had it again. I braced my lower back against the door and pushed with all my might against Eric and his dead weight.

With an oof and a grunt, I managed to shove him about two inches off of me. That left room enough for me to breathe a little easier. I quickly wished I hadn't. The excess air into my lungs had me gasping for breath, and each movement of my chest cavity sent searing pain burning through my arm and somewhere below my ribs. I gasped again with the pain, and tears welled up in my eyes as I only made it worse.

I paused for a moment, breathing as shallowly as possible, willing myself to overcome the nausea that threatened to overtake me. I'd never been one to deal with pain well.

Perhaps ten seconds passed, and I began to feel a little more solid in my brain. At the very least the windows weren't doing wicked, mocking dances around my head anymore. I focused on breathing slight, and began to pull myself, centimeter by centimeter, out from under Eric. It seemed like hours had passed before I was finally free.

I found myself bent uncomfortably, wedged between the driver's seat and the passenger's seat in the front of the car. Lauren's head slumped unconsciously into her shoulder, her chin leaning against the seatbelt. With her face devoid of any of the usual attitude or unpleasantry, it looked as though she was sleeping. But I had more important things to attend to.

Like finding out where my sister Angela was.

I looked quickly over at Tyler, whose head was bent forward over the steering wheel. His breath came in shallow bursts. No Angela there. I raised my eyes towards the dark ceiling of the car, as though I could see through it to the sky beyond—a silent plea for help. But my eyes focused on something before they could make it to the ceiling, and instantly, my stomach sank with a sickening gurgle.

No.

No, no, no….no.

This could not be happening.

I refused to allow my brain to follow any of my random, disjointed thoughts to their inevitable conclusions. I simply hoisted myself up onto the dashboard with my good arm, numbly maneuvering myself through the jagged hole in the center of the windshield.

The splinters of broken glass scratched at me, but, numb as I was, I felt nothing. They were like whispers against the bare skin of my arms, muttering silent prayers as they drew thin trails of blood in crooked lines. Perhaps God would hear those prayers—the ones of blood. My verbal and mental ones didn't seem to be making any headway through the thick rainclouds that shadowed us from overhead tonight.

When I climbed onto the hood of the car, what little hood there was left, anyhow—that wasn't smashed up nearly against the noses of Tyler and Lauren, it was a miracle the engine hadn't exploded—I adjusted myself so that I was sitting on my haunches and slid over the rough, crumpled metal to drop myself to the road down below.

And before I even had to search, I saw it.

My worst nightmares that I'd never had, all come to fruition in less than five short, poisoned, cursed minutes.

Twenty feet or so ahead of me, Angela lay broken and crumpled on the dark pavement, surrounded by an ever growing pool of even darker liquid.

I choked out something halfway between a sob and her name, and crawled across the shards of glass, reaching for her with my heart because I was unable to with my arms. My right arm hung uselessly twisted at my side, and my left arm was the only source I had to drag myself painstakingly forward as quickly as I could. But never fast enough.

The distance seemed to lengthen interminably; the harder I pulled myself across the black road, the farther away she got. And then all too quickly, I was right next to her mangled form.

"Angela, Ang," I gasped breathlessly. "Ang, talk to me. Are you okay? Does it hurt?" Idiotic questions poured from my lips in a torrent. "Hey, Ang, why are you laying this way? Come on, move a little. That can't be comfortable. Ang. . ."

I patted the matted hair on the back of her head—her face was towards the pavement and I couldn't see it. "Ang," my whispered pleas were becoming more urgent, more senseless as the seconds ticked by. "Wake up. Come on, this isn't funny. Mom will be mad if she sees us fighting over top bunk again. . .oh come on Ang, _please_. You can have top bunk. I promise." My cracking voice turned to incoherent sobs. I paused to scrub at my cheek where the tears were trickling down. I could feel the sticky warmth from the puddle I kneeled in beginning to soak through my dress and cling to my skin. I shuffled closer.

"Angela. . .I promise. You can have it. . ." gasp "you can have it forever, I won't complain. . .just get up, Angie, _please_?" I reached for her arm that covered her face, leaning over her torso that was twisted in an unnatural, disturbing position; her legs facing up, one knee bent, the top half of her body nearly flat with the ground, her chest pressed onto the asphalt.

"Here, let me help you—," I lifted her arm up and to the side, revealing her pale face that was drenched in both rain and blood. I leaned down to look into her face properly. . .and saw her eyes.

Open. With an abnormal glare, glazed over as they stared into a void, seeing nothing.

And suddenly, I saw nothing either.

* * * * * * * * *

It was my turn, now, and I played with the rose in my fingers.

I didn't look at the casket. I couldn't. It would make it too final.

Instead, I looked at the dark mound of dirt that sat waiting to go on top of it, trapping the other half of my soul six feet below the earth. I drew in a shuddering breath and stepped forward, stopping a few inches from the pit.

What could I possibly say as goodbye to the only person who had ever made me feel whole? Nothing seemed appropriate. I settled for talking to her as though she could hear me from inside the locked, purple box.

The millionth tear found its way down my cheek.

"I always thought that I would have you forever, Ang. But I guess I was wrong, huh? I've never been right too often, have I?" I smiled a broken, half little smile. "Families weren't meant to be broken. . .Angie. . .but it seems as though that's what my life has always been about. I wish I could take back that moment when I let us get in the car. You don't know how much. God, I wish I could take it back. I. . .I miss you. A lot." I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand, sniffing. "And I love you, more than you'll ever know. . .I. . I guess I'll see you soon. I'll always love you, Ang. You'll always be my shining star."

I reached out and dropped my flower onto the lilac colored casket with my left hand. The other couldn't reach out. It still hung in a sling, a constant and painful visual reminder of the worst night of my life.

The men who stood by with shovels began chucking heaps of soil down into the hole. It seemed to me a very long time before I heard the thud of the dirt on the casket below. As the first thump was heard, my mother burst into sobs; loud, heartrending gasps that sounded as though she wasn't able to breathe.

"No, no, my baby! Don't cover my baby, noooooo…." Her wails were muffled by Phil's shirt as he held her closely, letting her claw madly at his suit jacket. She clung to him as though her life depended on it, determined to press herself as close as possible despite the enormous bulge in her midsection.

I turned away from them. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't see how life could go on. I didn't want to see how life could go on.

Maybe it didn't have to.


	3. Adjustments

**Disclaimer: This story is inspired by Twilight. Any and all references or direct quotes are not intended as plagiarism, or theft, or anything else. I adore the author, Stephenie Meyer, and this is just a tribute to her great work. That said, I love the Jacob I've written in this chapter. I wish he was _my_ friend. **

Chapter 2. Adjustments

EDWARD

I used to like living.

Sure, life had its ups and downs, but I always knew I could count on my parents to be there for me, just like I was always there for them. We were a tight-knit family.

_Were._

Now I was all alone, in the truest sense of the word. Orphaned and disowned by the rest of my family. You would have thought that by now, God would have seen the cruelty of some people in this world and let them be the ones to suffer—not innocent, loving, warm-hearted, kind people like my parents were.

_Like my parents were._

The cutting edges of each letter stung me as the reality of that statement struck me again and again. My eyes welled up with the tears that never managed to spill over as I tugged my hands through my bronze hair. . .the same color as my father and namesake—Edward Sr.

I had stopped looking in the mirror three weeks ago; it hurt too much to see the face that was his spitting image staring back at me, void of vigor or animation. Everything looked dead to me, now; and my countenance was no exception.

I stood and numbly walked over to the large window in the lobby of the orphanage, staring out blankly into the sheeting rain that pelted down, obscuring nearly everything more than five feet into the distance. The norm, for anyone who lived in Seattle. I vaguely registered as a black Mercedes pulled up out front, and a woman jumped out, clutching a newspaper over her head as she hustled to get inside a building before her probably-expensive shoes were ruined.

I wasn't paying much attention, but through the slant of the rain, something terribly familiar struck me about her gait—the way she hurried up the drive, and the way her golden curls sat atop her head.

She looked like my mother.

Pain lanced through my chest like a knife, knocking the breath out of me as I spun around from the window and sank to the floor. I struggled against my closing lungs, fighting for air as images I didn't want to see spun through my head.

_My mother, laughing as her green eyes sparkled while my father tickled her into a giggling heap on the kitchen floor. _

_Those green eyes closed forever as she lay in the silver casket surrounded by red and white carnations. _

I looked searchingly up at the high ceiling in despair, scratching my scalp as hard as I could with my nails as I dragged my fingers through my hair again. The pain I felt on the crown of my head was nothing compared to what I'd felt in the rest of my body since the moment I'd gotten the news about the accident three weeks ago.

_The accident that tore my only family out of my life forever._

Most people go through a stage of denial at first, their mind shutting down and refusing to accept the horror of a loss this great. Not me. I realized from the moment I got the phone call that I was without the two people I loved most in the world.

The only two people who had ever loved me in this world.

I let my hands fall uselessly to my side, where they hit the light purple linoleum tiles with a muted thud. I was a little bit sore at the woman who had stepped out of the black car, and I rolled my eyes at the weak feeling of indignation. I didn't have much strength lately to exert too much energy towards any other emotions besides grief. I was upset, though, that she had taken away my only means of escape: the blank rain outside the blank window.

It was the only way I could try to empty my mind of the painful images, by staring out at the gray sheets of repetitive rain as the drops traced their meaningless patterns down the glass. Now if I looked out of the window again, I would be reminded of having seen her hurrying past; my mother's ghost floating by to torment me. Elizabeth Masen, the most beautiful woman in the world, would haunt my memories for the rest of eternity.

I cursed the woman inwardly.

"Edward Masen?"

My name was called by the receptionist at the desk, and I dragged myself up the wall into a standing position. Propelled forward by nothing more than the pull of muscle against bone, I made my way to the front.

I stopped when I reached the front desk, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans and staring blankly at the small red-head behind the counter. I looked more or less through her, not really seeing her; not really caring what she had to say.

"There's someone here to see you."

I followed her gaze to my left, where, unnoticed by me before, the woman from outside the window was standing. Up close, she didn't bear any resemblance at all to my mother. The curls that I had thought were gold before were actually a deep caramel color, and her eyes were a golden brown framed by thick lashes, not the crystal-clear green I had inherited.

As I studied her features, relieved that her gene pool had decided not to rend my heart any further for today, her face lit up into a nervous, tentative smile.

"Hello, Edward," she said, and her voice was soft and reassuring. "My name is Esme Cullen, and this is my husband, Carlisle." She reached her hand out in an offer for a handshake, but I stared uncomprehendingly. She pressed her lips together momentarily and hurried to redirect the action, gesturing towards a tall, blonde, kind-looking man who stood slightly behind her.

Well what would you know? There were more people in the room that I hadn't noticed. I briefly wondered if the entire orphanage could have been abducted by aliens and I wouldn't have paid any attention.

It wouldn't have mattered to me, I realized. It wouldn't have left me any more alone than I already was.

My eyes flickered over to the man she referred to as Carlisle, noting that his eyes were the exact same color as the woman's. Interesting, had I cared to be interested. I waited apathetically for them to say something more.

It was the red-headed receptionist who spoke up next. "They're here to take you home."

I looked at her, slightly more alert now, but rather bemused.

Home? I didn't have a home anymore. The stupid government had taken that away from me—placed me in an orphanage with a bunch of little kids and abandoned babies.

I was seventeen years old. Seventeen year olds didn't end up in orphanages because their parents died and the rest of their family didn't want them. Seventeen year olds didn't get placed on waiting lists for foster homes. Seventeen year olds were supposed to be living it up, partying and getting ready for college, just starting to figure out life.

The only figuring out I had done was that life was completely, utterly, and horridly unfair.

The tiny woman behind the counter interrupted my thoughts again. "You can go upstairs and pack together your things," she told me. "Mr. and Mrs. Cullen will be waiting here for you when you finish." I turned around robotically, without another backward glance at the perfect couple with the perfect smiles glued onto their perfect faces and pushed through the double glass doors that led to the dorms.

Home? We would see what that meant.

* * *

It turned out home was an enormous white mansion, tucked away at the end of a long winding drive through thick trees somewhere deep in the heart of the Olympic Peninsula. I felt a nostalgic sense of longing for the busy streets and crowded malls of downtown Seattle as we pulled into the oversized garage attached to the eastern side of the house.

I picked up my battered black knapsack, shoving my arm through the strap and not bothering to pull it over my head as I got out of the car. Shoving the door closed behind me, I leaned against it momentarily as I took in my surroundings. Thousands of square feet of open grass surrounded me and the front of the house—neatly trimmed. I supposed that was their lawn. Pretty darn big if you asked me. Unnecessarily big.

Where the abnormally large lawn ended, the forest began. Huge Sitka spruce trees reached toward the sky like fingers, growing so close together that I couldn't separate the branches of one from another as I struggled to see through the green web. I heard the rushing of water over stones coming from somewhere to my left, and guessed that there must be a river flowing behind the house. Fancy.

The woman with the caramel hair broke me out of my detailed inspection of the natural environment.

"Well, Edward, this is home. What do you think?" she asked kindly, her eyes alight with hope—something I felt like I hadn't seen in forever. Her hope would be wasted on me, though. She might as well bottle it up and keep it for someone who could actually put it to good use. I shifted my gaze away from her and shrugged.

"Nature in your own backyard. Can't beat that."

She smiled broadly, her teeth sparkling in the thin rays of sunlight that had broken through the clouds. Her husband smiled at me as well, running his hands nervously through his golden hair.

My father used to do that.

I sucked my teeth and sighed, looking anywhere but at the two of them as they stood there awkwardly for a moment, both watching me. No doubt they were wondering what they had gotten themselves into; taking a broken, sulky teenager with seemingly no manners into their perfect storybook life. Well, it was their choice. I didn't ask to be here. I didn't ask for any of this.

The man spoke to me for the first time. "Why don't you come inside, son. There's someone we'd like you to meet."

Sudden heat boiled in my veins, and my eyes blazed as I turned to face him.

"I. Am. Not. Your _son_." I said seethingly, wishing I could gauge out his perfect eyes that still remained so calm. Why didn't anything ever seem to faze him? "I have no parents. They're gone." I was bitter, and I could taste the bitterness as it flowed in my blood. The rage simmered just beneath my skin.

He paused for a moment, watching me silently until I felt the anger boil down as quickly as it had flared up. I was left feeling strangely empty; without the rage to hold onto, there was nothing left inside of me to hold me up.

"That's why we're here," he said in a quiet voice, after I had all but forgotten that he still stood there. He looked me steadily in the eye for a full five seconds, until I had to look away from the intensity of his gaze. I saw his feet as he turned around and began walking toward the steps. His wife followed behind him. Not looking up, I wasn't able to see if she was watching me or not.

I hesitated for a moment, seriously contemplating mutiny. But where would I go? I had nowhere to run to, no one to take refuge with. With a sigh and a kick into the grass that overturned a small rock and some dirt, I hoisted my knapsack further up onto my shoulder and slouched off after them.

We stepped through the large mahogany doors and into a wide, open living room that was sparingly decorated and very bright. Light filtered in through wall length windows—no. The entire back wall _was_ a window, and through it you could see across the enormous back yard all the way to the river that did indeed flow behind the house. I had to make a conscious effort to close my mouth as I took in my new surroundings. A white couch sat to my left, with an oval coffee table between it and a large, flatscreen TV. To the right was a slightly elevated platform, which stood out because it was not covered in the same lush cream carpeting that blanketed the rest of the room. On top of that stood a magnificent black Steinway grand piano. I tried unsuccessfully to squelch the feeling of longing that welled up within me at the sight of it. I used to spend hours sitting at the tiny upright we'd had at home with my mother by my side as she taught me what she knew, her fingers flying expertly over the keys. I purposely forced the thought from my head and averted my eyes. Where they fell now, directly ahead of me, a large mahogany staircase wound up to the second floor, and I stopped short as my eyes fell on it.

On the bottom step stood a tiny, pixie-like girl with short, spiky black hair and large, onyx eyes that appeared liquid as they focused in on me. She didn't look a day over ten years old judging from her face, but there was a subtle curviness to her figure that hinted towards a few more years being attached to her age. She seemed to bounce in place where she stood, not at all hiding the bright smile that lit up her face as though it were Christmas day and she'd just gotten a new puppy as a gift. Was I supposed to be the puppy? I noticed immediately the strange contrast between her bouncy, energetic personality—one had only to look at her once to realize that she was outgoing and hyper—and her dark and rebellious wardrobe. She wore a black lace minidress, the edges of the skirt shredded, over torn blue-jeans, the ankles of which were tucked into rocker boots—the kind with lots and lots of metal buckles going up the side. Over the minidress, a jean jacket with the bottom half cut off hung open, revealing a silver and black chain made of alternating safety pins and black paper clips. Her tiny fingernails were painted in alternating shades of black and silver nailpolish.

She looked like Tinkerbell gone goth.

"Edward, this is Alice, our adopted daughter. She's fifteen years old and has been with us since she was six. Alice, this is Edward." The man—was Carlisle his name? introduced us.

Alice pranced forward with her hand outstretched. "Mary Alice Brandon Cullen, but you can just call me Alice. Everybody else does," she said cheerily, her black eyes shining as she stared up at me. I looked at her awkwardly for a moment, then figured aw what the heck, and shifted the weight of my bag to my left hand so that my right was free. I reached out to take her hand, and was surprised by the strong, firm grip she used. Little Ms. Tink was fierce.

"I'm glad you're finally here, I've been waiting forever for a brother," she gushed, apparently oblivious to my closed off demeanor—or not caring. "Do you like to read? If you do, Carlisle's got a whole library that I've got my own section in. . .lots of classics. Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte and the like—I mean, if you like that sort of stuff. Those are my favorites. If not, he's got a million other books for you to look through. . ."

So the gothic punked out fairy was an avid reader of classic novels. The Cullens seemed to have a thing for oddballs.

_Like me,_ I thought, and then the nostalgic thought was poisoned by a sting of bitterness. _That's why my family didn't want me._

Quite convenient though, and I _was_ grateful Alice was willing to share. I just so happened to be a lover of the classics myself. I wondered absently if Carlisle had a noteworthy collection of poetry among his many collected works. Emily Dickinson, perhaps?

Alice grabbed my hand and in my surprise, I allowed her to tow me towards a large glass door, behind which I saw a gray marble island with a fruit bowl seated on top. _The kitchen?_ Why was she taking me there? I tried to pay attention to what she was saying to me.

"—must be hungry, it's after four o'clock and I haven't eaten lunch yet, so I bet you haven't. Or did they already feed you back at the orphanage? Oh well, you can always have a snack. We have a bunch of fruit, if you'd like," she gestured toward the island, "or there's plenty of stuff to make sandwiches with in the fridge. Make yourself at home."

There was that word again. _Home._ I doubted I'd ever really feel _at home_ in this gigantic house that looked like it dropped out of a high-end real estate catalogue, but Alice's enthusiasm was _almost_ contagious. At the very least, it kept me occupied enough with thoughts outside my own brain; enough that I couldn't find the time to feel awkward or resentful; I was too busy being dragged around the entire mansion, given the grand tour.

Alice pulled me towards the staircase, babbling excitedly the entire way. I caught a glimpse of the half-nervous, half satisfied smiles on the faces of the adults as we whizzed past them.

"I bet you can't wait to see your room, it's got the best view in the entire house—well, except maybe the living room. But that doesn't count, because of course there's not a bed in there." She chuckled at her own little joke. "Consider yourself lucky. The view is absolutely gorgeous. I bet you won't be able to concentrate on doing your homework while you're in there, I know I wouldn't."

By this time, we had reached the top of the winding staircase and I risked a look down the middle of the spiral. It was a _long_ way down. I felt slightly off balance and quickly straightened up again, just in time for her to tug me down the hall. I caught a glimpse of something wooden and strong-looking hanging just above the top of the stairs; I'd have to investigate that later.

Wait.

Later? Then that meant I was actually considering the insane notion of staying. I'd known I didn't have much of another _better_ choice, but I'd been trying to keep up an angry façade for the sake of my own mental sanity—and for the sake of my parents' memory.

They weren't even cold in their graves yet, for crying out loud. Could I allow myself to be accepted into a family? No. No, I couldn't. I was just a foster child after all. I'd heard enough stories about foster children to know that as soon as they got settled and attached, the government uprooted them and placed them in a new home. No, I could not afford the luxury of a family.

But I had to give it to the little pixie. She'd sprinkled her fairy-dust all over me, and now the prospect of staying here for however long didn't seem quite as daunting as it had before.

She and I just might get along—_if_ she ever had an off-switch.

We stopped in front of the door at the end of the hall and she turned her liquid coal eyes up to me. I watched her warily as she paused for dramatic effect.

"And. . .drumroll please," she began with a radiant smile. "I am pleased to present to you. . .your room." And with that, she flung open the door and took a step back to allow me full access to the doorway.

I was amazed in spite of myself.

The room was filled with daylight, streaming in and bouncing around from every angle imaginable. Two of the four walls were glass windows from ceiling to floor, and the third was a mirror. The midsections of the spruce trees were visible all around through the glass and reflecting off the mirror to my right, and I could see across the river to the woods and mountains on the other side. It would be like sleeping in the middle of the forest.

On the base of the mirror was a row of metal chrome shelves, overflowing with records and CDs. Next to that was a complex stereo system, which I noticed was hooked up to speakers in the four corners where the ceiling met the walls. To the left, pressed up against the window glass, was a low, long twin size bed with metallic gray and black covers. Ahead of that was a computer desk, facing the window-wall directly across from the door. On top of it sat a shiny black HP laptop underneath a chrome silver desk lamp.

A movement at my side drew my eyes down. Alice hovered just beneath my elbow.

"I'll let you get settled," she said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. "The bathroom is down the hall to the right if you need it. We've cleared off a shelf for you."

And then she was gone.

I turned to look back after her, but saw no trace of her in the long corridor. She had disappeared without a sound. I frowned, but turned back around and stepped into the room that was now mine. It wasn't like I was going to go looking for the pixie in her own castle. I stepped over to the desk and pulled out the plush black computer chair, which made no noise at all as it rolled over the hardwood floors. I rested my hand on it for a moment before depositing my battered knapsack onto the seat.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Almost as though the house were empty.

I unzipped my knapsack and reached in to start unpacking. My fingers closed around the deodorant spray container that lay atop the small pile containing the few clothes I had, but they were numb and it slipped out of my hand, falling back into the bag.

I turned and threw myself down on the uncreaking bed, burying my face in my arms and the silky pillowcase. A shuddering breath escaped my lungs.

And the tears came, slow and hot and as silent as the rest of the house.

* * *

BELLA

I woke up to bright sunlight streaming through the window and into my eyes. I squeezed my eyelids shut as tightly as I could, but it did no good. The light still created a red glow that burned into my aching brain. I scooted up further and shoved my head under my bed to avoid the light—yes, under my bed. These past three weeks I had taken to sleeping on a comforter on my floor, unable to bear the thought of sleeping in an empty bed; not feeling Angela's legs sprawled haphazardly over me so that I could kick them away in annoyance; not shivering in the wee hours of the morning when she curled up in the blanket and took it all away from me. No, the cold hardwood floor was definitely preferable to the absence of warmth on the other side of the mattress. A hot tear escaped my right eye and fell to the floorboard against which my cheek was pressed.

A sudden, untimely urge punctuated my mourning as I felt a sharp pain in my lower abdomen. Cursed bladder. I shoved myself to my knees, and, with an ineffective attempt to shield my eyes from the bright light filtering in from the shades I had neglected to close last night, rose to my feet and stumbled out the bedroom door and down the hall to the bathroom. Why in the world was it sunny, anyway? This was freaking Forks, for crying out loud. The place of perpetual rain and nonstop drizzle. Curse it all.

After relieving myself in the bathroom, I made my way moodily back into my room where I sat down crosslegged on my makeshift bed on the floor. I still winced every time I moved my eyeballs, frowning morbidly as the heat from the sun assaulted my retinas. It _hurt._ I closed my eyes and buried my face in my palms, letting my hair cascade over my shoulders to block out as much of the light as I could. You would think that for all the times I had wished for warmth and sunlight I would be grateful for this change in the weather. But all I wanted now was for the world to cry with me.

And instead, it was blasted sunny. Curse it all.

And then it started.

_I had allowed us to get into the car. _

Cue remorse.

_Angela was gone._

Cue pain slashing through my chest like a searing, red hot knife.

_I had allowed us to get into the car. Angela was gone. I had allowed us to get into the car. I had allowed us to—_

"Bella!"

My head snapped up in annoyance, all pitiful feelings vanished. Replacing them was pure ire. My emotions had been oscillating so quickly I couldn't catch my bearings these past three weeks. It was like being thrown around in a rollercoaster when you were the only person in the cart—each swift and unexpected turn left you reeling with the distinct urge to regurgitate your lunch. That might have happened to me now, except that I hadn't eaten anything worth calling food for the past three weeks.

"Bella!" My mother's voice penetrated my thoughts again, sounding more urgent this time. I groaned and held my hands over my ears momentarily before lurching to my feet and hurrying toward the door. And because I'm Bella, I tripped over a shoe on my way there and fell to the ground, knocking my head on the corner of the computer desk before I landed hard on the floor. The loud thump that was me hitting the floor reverberated through the house.

"Bella? Are you alright?"

I cursed all that was bright, sunny, happy, or carefree in that moment as I sat back on my haunches while rubbing my smarting forehead. It felt like I had split my skull clean open.

I winced as the skin stung where I touched it.

_Am I bleeding?_

I pulled my hand away and examined my fingers. Yep. Sure enough, there was a tiny smudge of red on my fingertips. _Ow._

"_Bella! Would you answer me?_"

"I'm coming," I yelled, so she could hear me, and then took my time getting up and walking carefully out my door and down the steps. When I rounded the corner, l spied her sitting on the sofa, her round belly ridiculously taut and protruding.

"What happened to you?" she asked, her brow wrinkling in worry as she eyed my injured forehead.

"I tripped," was my ingenious response.

"For heaven's sake, that looks pretty bad," Mom continued, waving me closer to her. "Come here so I can get a better look at it."

"Really, mom, I'm fine. I just—"

"Come here, Bella."

I sighed and made my way over to where she sat, legs propped up on the coffee table with a pillow supporting them and a pillow wedged between her back and the couch.

"What happened, Mom? Why were you calling me like that? I thought something was wrong with you." I winced again and pulled away as she dabbed my forehead with a Kleenex from the box beside her. She grabbed my chin and kept it steady as she held the stained napkin up for me to see.

"See this? This isn't nothing. Go wash your face off and get a pack of ice from the freezer to put on it. And I only called you 'like that' when I heard the loud thump. I got worried."

I looked at the tissue with some surprise. Sure, my head hurt like there were monkeys with hammers pounding it, but there was quite a bit more blood on the paper than I had expected. I frowned and stood up.

"So what can I get you?" I asked.

"Nothing, honey. Go take care of yourself." I sighed and began walking toward the kitchen, only to trip over Jake's tail sticking out from behind the ottoman. Luckily, I caught myself in time before I went sprawling face first into the glass coffee table.

"What does the world have against me?" I muttered angrily under my breath before stomping off to the kitchen sink. Once there, I turned on the cool water and splashed it against my forehead. I followed the rest of Mom's instructions and was just heading back up the stairs to my room when she called me again.

"Yes, mom?"

"Why don't you go for a walk? It's beautiful outside and you could use some fresh air and sunshine. You're getting awfully pale."

"I've always been pale, Mom. Half-albino, remember?" My deadpan attempt at humor fell flat, but she smiled slightly anyway. The doctor had told her that to avoid having complications and possibly losing the baby she needed to stay as upbeat as possible. No negative feelings transmitted to the fetus. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

I didn't want another sister. How dare she choose now to come—as if she could replace Angela? I took it as a personal offense.

"Sure, mom." The doctor had also instructed us to be on our best behavior around her and avoid causing her any stress. Basically, do whatever she said without arguing. I tried my best to comply.

Lauren was another story. She hadn't said one word to me since the funeral. Well. . .I didn't count "I hope you go to hell when _you_ die."

Aside from that, I didn't exist to her. Not that we had much of a social life together before the accident, but now, she was going out of her way to make sure we were all as miserable as she professed to be. I secretly didn't think she actually missed Ang. She just needed a reason to be extra spiteful, and now she had one.

She went about her life as normal, only pausing to dole out hateful glares toward whichever family member happened to be in the proximity. Including Phil. He'd sort of given up on her; there was talk of sending her to therapy/counseling, but after she threw all of the baby's clothes out the second story window and threatened to run away, the issue wasn't brought up again. And so she continued her life, hating everyone around her.

Once I was sure my cut had stopped bleeding, I dressed slowly in my room, pulling on my heavy, comfy black Northface sweater over my longsleeved white shirt and dark blue jeans because, of course, only in Forks would it be chilly on a sunny day in the beginning of July. I figured the inevitable grass stains wouldn't show as much on the dark cloth when I assuredly fell. Plus, the doctor had switched my sling for a cast, so the baggy sleeves of the sweater hid that quite well. I slipped into my black Vans and headed back down the stairs.

"I'm leaving, Mom."

There was the sound of glass on glass as she put down her cup of water on the coffee table. She heaved herself, supporting her weight on the arm of the sofa, and made her way over to me. Arms outstretched, she smiled.

"Aww, honey—"

I resisted the sudden urge to slap the fake smile off her face and instead opted to duck out from underneath her arms, slipping past her to the door.

"See ya, Mom."

I barely registered the hurt look on her face as I closed the door behind me. But I refused to allow myself to care. I'd had enough of her artificial happiness, trying to rub it off on me. I wasn't happy. I didn't want to be happy. This was sick. My whole life was sick. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my iPod, roughly shoving the headphones into my ears before scrolling through my list of music and blasting my ears out with Linkin Park.

_Go away you_

_Tryna take the best of me_

_Go away you_

_Tryna take the best of me_

_I wanna be in another place_

_I hate when you say you don't understand_

_I wanna be in the energy, not with the enemy_

_A place for my head_

_I am so sick of the tension, sick of the hunger_

_Sick of you acting like I owe you this_

_Find another place to feed your greed while I find a place to rest_

The blaring guitars and thundering beat were exactly what I hoped would drown out all coherent thought from my mind. I walked briskly down the street, feeling my frustration increase exponentially with each step I took. I didn't wait to reach the corner before I broke into a full-out sprint, heading towards the only place I knew I'd find refuge: the beach.

It didn't occur to me that because today was sunny, everyone would be out and about there.

So a twenty-minute sprint later, there I stood, at the edge of the sand, partly hidden by a few gnarled tree branches as my spirits managed to sink even lower than the roots of the tree that obscured me from view.

The long strip of grayish sand was dotted by various shades of bodies pale from the lack of vitamin D; the waves were crashing over the heads of surfers as they rode them down to the last breaker. I frowned as my eyes roved over the beach.

And as if on cue, my stomach growled.

I frowned deeper. I was going to have permanent wrinkles etched into my skin before my eighteenth birthday.

I didn't feel like eating anything, but ten minutes more of people-watching, and my body refused to be ignored. I began to worry that the people out on their surfboards would be able to hear me and think that a prehistoric creature might be lurking somewhere in the trees.

Reluctantly, after making sure no one was looking my way, I stepped out from between the branches and walked across the soggy sand to the only place on the entire beach selling anything edible: the ice cream stand.

Ice cream at ten am. Splendid.

There was a line, and so I marched into the single file and took my place behind a monstrous brown wall with board shorts on. I unplugged my ears and wrapped the earphone cord around my iPod before sticking it back in my pocket. As I pulled out my hand curled into a fist I began counting out the spare change I had.

_Seventy-five, eighty, ninety. . .one dollar fifteen cents. . ._

Suddenly the wall spun around and began moving forward at a speed most unexpected for an object that had just been at rest. I didn't have time to look up or even begin to think to move out of the way before it was colliding with me and the next thing I knew, I was sitting flat on my butt on the damp sand, with sticky brown ice cream slowly melting down the front of my sweater.

"Oh, sh—," the wall cried, and I looked up. . .and up. . .and up to see where the words had come from. Who knew gigantic walls could communicate?

Squinting against the sun, I took the outstretched hand that was offered to me and tried to snap out of my daze. But then again, being randomly knocked off your feet by something three times your size can do that to you.

"I'm so sorry, I should have looked before I turned around—I can't believe I just did that, I'm so sorry, miss," the wall was saying. I found the source of the sound and focused in on the face that loomed way above me.

A pair of large, brown puppy dog eyes full of remorse and embarrassment stared down at me, framed by smooth russet brown skin and a shaggy mop of unkempt black hair.

He was still apologizing. I waved him off, trying to regain use of my tongue, which I had bitten accidentally upon impact with the sand. He whirled around and grabbed a handful of napkins off the counter, handing a few to me and proceeding to wipe down the front of my sweater with the rest of them.

"Really, miss, I'm so sorry. I didn't even see you standing there, I just—oh gosh, I'm really sorry. I've messed up your clothes now and—"

"I'm fine, it's no problem, really," I cut him off, taking the napkins from him and finishing the job myself. He continued to sputter, and if it was possible, his deep russet cheeks flushed a dark crimson color.

In spite of myself, and all that was sane, I began to laugh.

He looked bewildered at first, but then joined in, looking immensely relieved that I hadn't decided to be murderously upset over what would indeed prove to be a very odd-looking stain until I was able to wash it off.

But no one was more bewildered than me. I was _laughing?_

I looked up at him and smiled, _really smiled, _for the first time in nearly a month. I wasn't entirely sure what it was that made me do that—maybe it had something to do with the ridiculous irony of the situation; a big guy like himself looking so worried and. . .almost _afraid_ of me just because he spilled some ice cream on my clothes. As though I might attack him. Really. He was two and a half times my size. Or maybe it had to do with the fact that it wasn't even midday yet, and already I'd managed to trip twice, fall twice, and injure myself twice, over the course of three separate incidents.

Whatever the reason, I burst out laughing again. His dark eyes twinkled with mirth as he watched me, and he chuckled a bit himself. When I'd somewhat regained control of my mental faculties, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill.

"Let me buy your ice cream—I probably can't afford the dry cleaning bill, so this is the best I can do. What flavor will it be?" he asked with a lopsided smile.

My eyebrows shot up. "No, no, that's okay. You don't have to do that. I'm not mad or anything, and I have money with me."

"No, I insist. I knock you flat on your back and make you bust your lip _and_ spill ice cream all over your clothes—the least you can do is allow me to buy you some ice cream now."

I tentatively slid my tongue out to test my lips. . .sure enough, one of them was slightly swollen and tasted metallic. I was just about to open my mouth to respond when he cut me off.

"Oh God, and your tongue, too?"

I flushed bright red and clamped my mouth closed, wincing at the pressure that applied to my injured lip.

"I'm so sorry. Now you _have_ to let my buy you your ice cream." There was a hint of smugness in his eyes though, and sure enough, when I conceded with a defeated shrug, they shone bright with victory as he grinned and turned to the man behind the counter of the small ice cream shack.

"I'll have a double scoop cone for this lovely young lady here who has been so kind as to not castrate me for my unbelievable clumsiness and carelessness," he said in an important tone of voice. Then he turned to me. "So, uh. . .what flavor would you like?"

"Strawberry, please," I said in an embarrassingly mousy tone of voice. He nodded and turned to the vendor, re-ordering his chocolate and butter pecan cone at the same time.

The man smiled and took the money before handing him his change and turning away to serve the ice cream.

"So. . .what brings you on this fine day to the renowned and constantly sunny First Beach, miss. . .?" he hinted.

"Bella."

"Bella. Jake," he said, stretching out his hand in greeting. I took it and shook it quickly, before bursting into another fit of giggles.

"What?" he asked, looking confused.

"Nothing. I'm sorry, it's nothing," I replied hurriedly, still trying to choke back my chortles.

"No, tell me, what is it?" he asked.

"I like your name," I hedged.

He raised a dark, shaggy eyebrow underneath his mop of unruly hair. "Tell me," he commanded.

"Well, it's just that. . .well. . ."

He waited, a small, expectant smile warming his features as he looked down at me.

I flushed. "Just that my dog has the same name," I spat out hurriedly.

He looked surprised only for a moment, then rolled his eyes amusedly. "Figures. I guess I deserve to be called a dog after what I did to you."

"Oh no, really. . .Jake. . ." Cue another round of giggles "it's okay. I told you that already. I'd never think of you that way. It's just that I've never personally known a human being by the name of Jake, and so, well, I can't shake the image out of my head that my dog is standing on two feet and responding to me with sensible words."

He laughed heartily then, holding his side and bending over slightly. When he stopped, he looked up, and the vendor was holding out two cones, one pink and one brown and white, with an amused smile on his face.

"Glad to see the two of you getting along," he said. "Enjoy your day and be extra careful with these. I don't have a frozen cow back here spouting out various flavors of milk, you know. I'd have to call up Willy Wonka for that one, and he's all the way in West Babbalubbe. Quite the long distance call, you see." And with a wink and a crack of his bubblegum, he sent us on our way.

We turned away from the ice cream stand, still chuckling giddily. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I was so. . .so. . . could happy be the right word? I wasn't sure. No. I was only distracted. But the distraction was a nice change, so I decided to run with it.

"So what kind of dog do you have?" Jake asked, smiling down curiously at me as he licked his cone.

"A collie," I replied, taking a taste of my own. "Thanks for the ice cream, by the way."

"Don't mention it. What were you planning on doing here before I so rudely interrupted your day?"

I contemplated this. And realized I didn't really have an answer. Not one that I wanted to give this boy I'd just met, anyway_. I ran out on my mother because I couldn't stand her acting like we both didn't just lose my sister and best friend?_ Not likely. I opted for a response that was true, if not containing the whole truth.

"It's a nice day today. My mother suggested I go out and get some fresh air—I'd been under the weather lately." I shrugged as though it were no biggie.

He nodded as though he understood. "I go out pretty much every day, whether rain or shine, but the latter happens so infrequently here that I can't say I'd blame a caveman for coming out of his lair today, just to soak up some vitamin D."

I laughed. "Me neither." And then, to my amazement, I initiated conversation. "So do you go to Forks High?"

He shook his head as he slurped up a few escapee drops of butter pecan. "Nope. I go to school here on the rez. It's closer, plus my folks want it that way. Tribal traditions and all."

"Oh," I said. "You're Quileute, right?"

He nodded. "All the way back to Adam," he said with a smile.

I nodded back at him. "Well what about you? Do you have any pets?" _As long as I'm on a roll here I might as well keep going._

"Yep. Three."

"Really?" I asked in surprise. "What are they?"

"My dad, my brother and my sister."

I scoffed. "Oh, that's wrong."

"But it's true," he chuckled.

"How so?"

"They eat, sleep, and rag on each other like twelve-week old puppies."

"That's still wrong," I grinned.

"Yeah, well, what's the world without a little something to make it un-perfect? Just a little. . ." he waggled his eyebrows at me.

I rolled my eyes with a smile. "So, where exactly are we going?" We were walking along the length of the beach, but I could see a small grove of trees in the distance, and we appeared to be heading directly towards them.

"You don't seem to like crowds."

"I don't," I said, a little taken aback that he had picked up on that so quickly.

"And I also thought that you might like to wash that stain off your sweater before it sets." He pointed to the dark smudge on my chest.

"Oh, thank you," I said, feeling my cheeks heat up just a little. That was considerate of him—but I was never one comfortable with receiving gifts or favors.

We walked along in silence for a few more minutes until we reached the circle of trees.

They were just like the ones I had been hiding behind, except considerably more weathered since they were much closer to the coastline. Gnarled limbs twisted out in random directions, bleached white with sea salt and devoid of any leaves. Crooked roots poked up through the sand, creating knotty benches to sit on and avoid the surf.

"It's nice here," I said with some surprise as I took in the surroundings.

"Sure is. I like to come here and just sit and think sometimes. Or make stuff," he replied while digging in his pockets. He procured a few more napkins and an empty water bottle.

"Make stuff?" I asked. "Like what?"

"Oh, just little stuff, like wood figures and the like." He looked genuinely abashed. I was genuinely impressed.

"Really? That's so cool. How do you do that?" I asked.

"I'll show you. Wait right here and I'll be back." He disappeared around the large trunk of a tree and I heard gravel crunch as he walked down to the water's edge. I looked around me and spotted an oversized white tree root sticking out of the ground at just the right height to sit on. It was thick enough to make a comfortable seat without worrying about tipping off one edge or the other. I sank down onto it.

He returned a minute or two later with a murky looking full water bottle and two pieces of dark wood, each of them perhaps as big as his hand.

"Here you go," he said, pouring some water onto a napkin and offering it to me. "Sorry about the way I was cleaning you off earlier, I was just so muddled in the head and embarrassed about what I'd done. I didn't mean to grope you."

I laughed. "That's okay, no harm done." I took the soggy napkins from him and proceeded to scrub at the smudge until it was nearly invisible. "There. Thanks," I said, holding the now dark brown napkin at arm's length and looking around for a place to put it. He laughed, catching on.

"It's okay, just bury it. It's biodegradable," he winked. I raised an eyebrow but dug a hole in the sand with my shoe and dropped it in. He dropped to his knees and covered it over.

"May you rest in peace," he joked, looking up at me.

I looked away. Those words rang too familiar. I considered getting up and leaving, but that would mean going back to Renee and my empty bedroom. Thankfully, he seemed to catch on to my change in demeanor and straightened up again, brushing off his knees.

"You wanted to see what I could make?"

I looked back at him, grateful for the subject change and more than a little interested in what he was going to do.

"Sure."

He sat down on the makeshift bench beside me, and began to reach into his pocket again.

"Dang, how many things do you have in your pockets?" I asked.

"More than you'd imagine," he said with a smirk. I looked down to see what he'd magically produced this time, and it was a small, black pocketknife.

"You carve?" I asked incredulously.

"No, I'm not that demented," he joked. I rolled my eyes.

"Well in that case, I'm glad. I'd hate to be your next victim."

He laughed. "I whittle."

"Whittle. Isn't that a Southern word?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Probably."

I laughed. "I'm just a-whittlin' away on mah stick heres." He sniggered and bumped my shoulder conspiratorially.

"Now you know the secret of my real heritage."

We laughed together.

He flipped open the pocketknife and began expertly chipping away at the first piece of wood. It was fascinating to watch him as he worked. His eyebrows drew together when he concentrated, and his shaggy hair hung down into his eyes, but it didn't seem to bother him at all. It was like he became whatever it was he was creating.

After about maybe ten minutes of turning the piece of wood this way and that, and whittling here and chipping there, the wood suddenly bore a distinctly canine appearance.

"Wow," I whispered.

He didn't reply, just kept chipping away until the legs became more defined. He moved up to what I assumed was the head, and suddenly, there were ears, pressed back against the head which was turned up as if in mid-howl.

I watched in amazement as he carved out the eyes and muzzle, then turned to minute details, using the very tip of the point of the knife to make nostrils on the snout and pupils in the eyes. He finished up by defining the tail laying flat against one of the hind legs and scratching lines resembling fur all along the body.

He looked up and handed me the tiny wolf. "What do you think?"

I was stunned. "Wow, Jake. It's beautiful. I'm. . .I'm amazed."

He beamed. "Want it?"

I looked up at him from where I was examining the small creation in surprise. "Really? I mean—you made it—I don't, um, well. . ."

He interrupted me by placing his hand over mine and closing my fingers into a fist around the wolf. "Keep it. It's for you. Consider it another apology gift; you know, restitution."

I tucked a wayward lock of hair behind my ear that had been tickling the side of my nose.

"Gee, um, thanks."

He smiled. "You should name it Jake."

I laughed, and the tension was broken. "That I will." He let go of my hand now that I'd conceded to keep the little trinket. I noticed a braided cloth band tied around his wrist.

"That's pretty," I said, pointing to it. "What is it?"

"Oh, this," he said absently, glancing down at it. "It's just something my mother made for me before she died. My brother and sister each have one too."

He turned the brown and black string over and I saw that under his wrist the band was wider, and had a word braided into it. I looked closer.

_Jacob._

I looked up and smiled. "Nice to meet you, Jacob."

He smiled in return and flipped the band over. It had some weird hinge mechanism that allowed it to rotate completely to the other side. On the other surface it read _Ahanu._

"Ahanu?" I asked. "What does that mean?"

His eyes twinkled. "He who laughs."

I grinned. "They named you well."

"So what about you? Do you have any other names besides Bella?"

I nodded. "Well, yeah. Bella is short for Isabella, and my middle name is Marie. I got that after my grandmother."

"Really? Ahanu is from my grandfather. Well, not exactly. More like he named me that. It's actually not Quileute, it's an Algonquin name. But his second wife was Algonquin, and he learned the language. She's not my grandmother, though. I'm full-blooded Quileute." He ran his thumb over the braided letters. I noticed how his hands were strong, defined. They knew by instinct how to carve and use tools. They were sort of beautiful in a rugged way.

"Cool," I said. "So do you speak the Quileute language?"

He shook his head mournfully. "Unfortunately not. It's sort of a dying art."

"That's a shame."

He nodded. "Very much so. But our legends are still alive and kicking."

My interest piqued. "Legends?"

"Yep. They're passed down through oral tradition, although you'd think since it's oral, why hasn't the language survived? It's weird. But some of the legends are pretty cool."

"Tell me some of them," I begged.

He laughed. "Aren't we interested?"

I blushed. "Sorry. I just happen to love anything having to do with myth or folklore or legends, and to hear a story first-hand from someone it's been passed down to—that would be just amazing."

"Well, if that's the case, I'd hate to deprive you of the full experience. My tribe is having a yearly pow wow next week where we're going to retell our biggest and most central legends, and we always love it when members of the community come and show interest. It'll be really cool. You should come."

"I'd love to," I said with a huge smile. I couldn't remember the last time I'd smiled so much. Was it really so long ago, or had I just aged a hundred years in the last month? It felt like it, but now it seemed as though I was shedding the years, slithering out of them the way a snake leaves its old skin behind. I was just going to ask him to give me an appetizer of what they'd be talking about when I startled the both of us by jumping nearly ten feet into the air.

"Whoa, calm down. I get that you're excited about the legends and all, but was that really necessary?" he asked with teasing eyes.

My butt was vibrating a mile a minute. I reached behind me and yanked the culprit out of my pocket: my cell phone. Embarrassed, I muttered incoherently to myself about supposedly inconspicuous volume settings while checking the display screen. It read _Home_.

"Excuse me just a minute," I said to him, holding up my finger and stepping slightly away from the oversized tree root we had been sitting on.

Flipping the cover open, I answered.

"Hello?"

"Bella? Bella? Where are you?" My mother's voice was frantic on the other end.

"Mom? Calm down, I'm at the beach. What's the matter?"

"Bella, you've got to come home now. You have to—" her voice cut off and I heard her gasp for breath. Uh oh.

"Mom? Are you there? Are you okay? I'm on my way home now." I gestured to Jake, who jumped up quickly at the look of worry on my face. "It's okay, Mom, just breathe. Call Phil. Where's Lauren?"

"She's not home—she's at. . .I don't know where she is—ahhh. . ."

"Take deep breaths, Mom. I'll be there in twenty minutes or less."

Jacob was looking at me with a rather frantic look in his eyes, waiting much less than patiently for me to tell him what the matter was.

"Just hurry, Bella, please. My water just broke."

"I'll be right there."

I closed the phone and turned quickly to face him. "My mother's pregnant, and she just went into labor."

His eyes widened so much I worried for a moment that they might fall out of his sockets. But he thought quickly.

"How far away do you live from here?"

I frowned. "A forty minute walk. Twenty minutes running, which is how I got here."

He was distracted for a quick moment. "You sprinted for twenty minutes straight? What are you? Superwoman?" But he shook the thought off. "I've got a car back at the rez, that's like five minutes from here. We can make it in two if we run—which shouldn't be a problem for you. Do you want a ride home?"

"Yes, thanks, that'd be great," I responded quickly. I was beginning to worry about Renee. She sounded pretty panicked. I wondered why—it wasn't like this was her first child.

"Follow me," Jake said, and promptly took off in the direction of his car. I kept pace with him easily.

"You're a pretty fast runner," he noted.

"Yeah, I used to run track back in Phoenix."

"You're not from Washington?"

"Nope."

He let that slide since we'd reached his car; an old, red beat-up Volkswagen Rabbit. He jumped in the driver's seat without breaking stride, and reached over to flip the lock up for me. I climbed in and gave him directions to my house.

"How are you planning on getting to the hospital?" he asked.

"Uh. . .about that. Phil's got the only car, and he's at work. My evil stepsister isn't home either. Not that that makes a difference."

"I'll drive you."

He said it in a no-questions asked tone of voice, and I appreciated it immensely. "Thank you so much."

"Don't mention it."

We flew along the road, hugging the bends a little too closely for my comfort, but I wasn't about to complain. Besides, I felt strangely safe in his presence, almost as though he were protecting me. But I chalked it up to my wildly swiveling emotions. It wasn't a reasonable feeling.

"Make a right here," I told him, pointing out the window. "That's my house right there, the white one." He pulled into the driveway and cut the engine.

"Do you want any help?"

"Uh, you can just. . .wait here. I'll shout if I need anything. I want to let her know I'm not alone first."

He nodded and sat back in the seat to wait, crossing his arms.

I rushed inside the house, plucking the spare key off the eave and calling her name before I'd gotten the door completely open.

"Are you ready to go? Do you have everything? Do you need anything else?" I looked in the living room and didn't see her. My voice rose an octave.

"Mom?"

"I'm in here," her voice came from behind me. I whirled and found her in the kitchen, leaning over the sink. Her duffel bag was on the floor next to her, packed full of all the things she'd need at the hospital.

I hurried over and rubbed her on her back. Her eyes were watery.

"We have a ride to the hospital. I met someone up at the beach and was talking to him when I got your phone call. He has a car and offered to drive us once he heard what was happening."

"Thank God," she breathed.

"Come on." I helped her stand up straight and let her walk with me to the door, where I let go only to swing the duffel bag over my shoulder. I helped her down the steps then hurried back up them to lock the door and tucked the key back under the eave.

"Who's your friend?" Mom asked.

"His name's Jacob. He's from the reservation."

"Quileute?"

I nodded.

"That's nice."

I helped her into the car where she thanked Jacob profusely before resting her head back on the seat and breathing hard. I held her hand from the backseat.

We flew down the 110, barely slowing as we merged onto the 101. I'm sure we broke every speed limit there was—what sort of engine did he have under the hood of this decrepit old vehicle?

When we reached Bogachiel Way he made a right turn from the left lane, cutting off a car and earning a few honks along the way. I cringed as we swerved into the parking lot of Forks Community Hospital, but it looked as though we were just in time. Renee was beginning to hyperventilate. I rubbed soothing circles onto the back of her hand with my thumb until she squeezed it so tight I couldn't move it.

"Mom, it'll be okay."

We rushed her in through the doors where the nurse looked up and immediately paged for a wheelchair. The two orderlies that showed up with the chair eased Renee down into it and then took off at pretty darn near a lilting run down the hall. I looked back at the nurse frantically.

"Can't I go with her?"

The nurse pointed in the opposite direction. "You'll have to take the public elevators. The maternity ward is on the sixth floor."

Jake beat me to the elevators and was standing there punching the button with his thumb when I rounded the corner. "You okay?" he asked me.

I nodded. "Just a bit nervous. Just a bit."

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't look just a bit."

"Okay, I'm terrified," I admitted, crossing my arms and hopping from foot to foot. He sighed.

"Come here."

I hesitated, watching him warily.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh come here, I'm not going to bite you or anything. I just want to give you something."

I took a giant step closer, peering up at him from underneath my lashes while still remaining at a safe distance. He reached into his infinitely deep pocket and procured a small leather sack tied closed with a cord. I looked at him curiously as he held it out to me.

"What's this?"

He shook it in front of my face and it rustled. A spicy smell came from the small bag.

"It's sage. It's sort of like a good-luck talisman; sage is sacred to Native Americans. We usually carry it around with us to protect us from harm and stuff. You can hold it."

I held out my hand, palm up, and he dropped the small bag into it. It made a light crunching sound when I caught it. "Thanks, Jake." I clutched the bag tightly and watched the blinking elevator lights with wide eyes. "Is this elevator ever going to get here?"

Jake tugged at his hair, dragging his long fingers through it. Now I could see why his hair looked the way it did.

"I guess now we know why they don't use the public elevators," he muttered.

The lights on the elevator blinked at the fourth floor, then the third, then the second, and stopped. I tapped my foot. Then, to my utter surprise and indignation, it began ticking back up again; third floor, fourth floor, fifth. . .

"What is this nonsense?" I cried, stomping my foot.

Jacob looked down at me in disbelief. "Did you seriously just stamp your foot? I thought girls only did that on TV."

I shot a glare at him. "Not the time, Jake. Come on, we're taking the stairs."

He glared right back at me, but was right by my side as we tromped up the twelve flights to the sixth floor. We were both panting by the time we made it. I could barely gasp out my request to the receptionist behind the large round desk.

"Renee Weber."

"Has she just been admitted?" the nurse asked. I nodded breathlessly. She punched a few buttons in the computer and peered over her glasses at the screen.

"She's not in the system yet. You'll have to wait a few minutes."

I groaned and swiped my hair off my forehead, where it clung uncomfortably due to the sweat from running up twelve flights of stairs.

Jacob looked down at me from his towering heights and offered a half a grin. "They have to—"

But at that precise moment I caught a glimpse of my mother being brought down the hall in a wheelchair and I lost all coherent thought. I sprinted down the corridor after her, Jake hot on my heels, ignoring the cries of the bewildered nurse behind us.

"She's already eight centimeters dilated," the nurse inside the room said as the attendants situated Renee on the hospital bed. I suddenly felt very alone, and looked around me to see that Jake was missing. I spotted him hovering uncertainly just outside the door.

I quickly ducked my head down and whispered in my mother's ear. She nodded, and I turned and waved Jake in with my hand. He had to duck to pass through the door, but he came and sat on the seat next to me, beside the bed.

I reached out and took Mom's hand. She squeezed it tightly and I winced, but she was beyond noticing that now. I looked up at Jake, fear evident in my eyes. His eyes were full of concern, and he looked down at my lap. I froze for only a moment as he reached over and gently scooped up my hand which was in the cast. He allowed it to rest in his left hand, then took his right hand and covered it. His dark brown eyes met mine for one second, and then he turned his gaze away to watch Renee. And in that glance, I read plainly: _We won't talk about this._

His eyes were carefully remote yet still somehow there in the present moment with us as I turned back to face my mother, writhing and sweating on the sterile sheets of the maternity bed.

And I was grateful for his presence.

* * *

Edward POV

The weeks had gone by, and I had grown somewhat accustomed to the routine of the Cullen household. There was a pattern to everything, that oddly, I somehow fit right into. In my own twisted way, of course.

But there was room for me.

I just didn't want it.

It went something like this. Wake up, seven thirty two am every morning. Hear the shower running in the bathroom that, for some odd reason, was the only one in this entire enormous mansion. It was always Alice. The little pixie was a clean freak. Esme and Carlisle would already both be up and dressed for work, and I could always hear the sounds of kitchen utensils clanking around downstairs as they ate their seven forty-five Carlisle would leave for work at the hospital, and I would remain in my room until eight-thirty when Esme would leave. She owned a dress shop in town, called _Esme's Creations. _Nine o'clock Alice would be dressed and I'd hear her miniature feet pattering down the spiral staircase to go have her breakfast. Fifteen minutes later, and the front door would slam.

The house would be quiet again.

And that's when I would ease out from under the covers and make my way down to the kitchen. And there would always be a plate on the island in the center of the kitchen, covered up and filled with whatever had been made for breakfast that morning, still warm.

I wasn't sure who it was that left it out for me, but suspected it might be Alice, considering the fact that the temperature of the meal never actually dropped to room temperature, and Esme and Carlisle had both left quite some time earlier.

Dinnertime we ate together, but I was allowed to be excused as soon as I had finished my food.

They let me do me. I both loved and resented it at the same time.

I awoke one morning in the beginning of August to another sunny day. We'd actually had an abnormal string of those, starting from the beginning of July. There had been at least three sunny days a week all summer long. It was both refreshing and a bit disconcerting. I was used to the dampness and the clouds, if not the rain as well. And it was on one of these sunny days that Alice broke the routine.

I was startled from under the safety of my covers by a timid rap on my door. I allowed myself a moment to think I had imagined it, but it came again after a few seconds.

Wrinkling my eyebrows in confusion, I threw the covers off my legs and swung them out of the bed. The wood floor was cool against my bare feet as I padded silently towards the door.

I opened it just a crack—just far enough to stick my nose through and squint against the light coming from the large window at the opposite end of the long hallway. Alice stood outside the door, dressed in her usual gothic garb, peering up at me from under her dark lashes and looking oddly nervous for once.

I raised my eyebrows in an obvious question as to why she was just standing there and not saying anything.

She quickly took a step backwards from my penetrating stare, then looked away and down to the floor nervously. "Would you like to eat breakfast with me?" she blurted quickly, staring intently at her dark crimson painted toenails.

My eyebrows must have touched my hairline. I think she knew this, because she pulled out her weapon faster than she would have needed to use it. "I don't have to be at the shop before ten today, and Esme asked me to—"

I cut her off. "Don't bother. Just go and—I'll. . .I'll be there in five minutes."

What possessed me to say that, I hadn't the faintest clue.

Her eyes lit up the way I had gotten used to seeing them when she was her usual energetic self bouncing around the house. She turned on her heel with an ear-to-ear smile at me, literally skipping down the hall as I closed the door after her retreating form.

I stared out the glass wall at the tall line of spruce trees and began to seriously question my sanity. Did I just say yes to eating breakfast with _my-mouth-runs-a-million-miles-a-minute_ Alice?

Scratch that.

Did I just give up my routine in a heartbeat?

I did.

Why?

After about five minutes of serious contemplation, I struck upon the answer. And it frightened me to no end.

I had grown attached to Alice.

Not in any sort of a romantic way, but in a big-brother/kid-sister sort of way. Seeing her around was a sort of given, and she always had something to say to brighten my day considerably. Not that she knew that, of course. But it didn't make it any less true.

Ten minutes later, I was dressed half-way decently—a wifebeater and boxers was half-way, right?—and descended the stairs to join Alice. I couldn't exactly decide which I cherished more; my solitude, or the human interaction that a small part of me—and growing larger every day—missed so terribly. Admittedly, I didn't want it from Carlisle or Esme. It felt like betrayal to my parents to accept their kindness any more than the bare minimum, and I couldn't do that. But I hadn't exactly been a loner before the accident. I'd been popular at my school, somehow managing to walk the fine line between hot nerd and brooding jock. I'd been on the debate team and in the chess club, in the school orchestra where I'd played the piano, and I'd been on both the soccer and baseball teams—varsity every year. I'd even managed an after-school job on top of it all, and my grades had always been stellar. A ghost of a smile passed over my features as I remembered how proud my parents had been of me the day I came home with the letter stating my acceptance into an internship at the community Medical Center. My mother's green eyes had sparkled with delight and satisfaction as she smothered me in a bone-crushing hug, my father looking on with unmasked pride from over her shoulder. Elizabeth had always been unusually strong, something one wouldn't have guessed with a first glance at her slight frame.

I found myself flipping through my memories of my parents all the way up until—I shut the door of my mind with a vehement slam. I couldn't believe I'd just allowed myself to remember them like that—I couldn't afford a breakdown in front of anyone. The memories were supposed to be reserved for nights; when the house was even more silent than when it was empty during the day. I swallowed to avoid the constricting feeling I felt building up in my chest and pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen.

Alice sat at the island, her back to me with her tiny feet swinging from the stool. They were still bare, I noticed. I glanced down at my own.

Bare.

I wiggled my toes with another glance at her back. Something we had in common, perhaps? I never liked to wear shoes if it wasn't absolutely a necessity. I quirked an eyebrow. No, it was too soon to tell. I cleared my throat, alerting her of my presence before making my way around the island and taking the seat across from her in front of the plate that sat there awaiting me. She glanced up, her mouth halfway full of eggs.

"I made waffles. They're on the counter," she said in a muffled voice.

I rose again wordlessly, taking my plate and making my way over to the polished, gray marble countertop. There was a plate covered by a pot cover serving as a lid sitting off to the right side of the counter. I lifted the makeshift lid with one finger and was greeted by the delicious smell of raspberries.

Raspberry waffles? Wow.

I used my fork to spear a healthy helping of the square pastries, inhaling the wonderful aroma as I did so. When I had taken my seat again across from Alice, to my surprise she was looking directly at me. I ducked my head and muttered, "Thanks," before stuffing my mouth so thoroughly she couldn't possibly expect me to respond to anything she said.

But then again, Alice rarely expected a response once she got started.

"You're not wearing much. You'll have to go get dressed," she began. I resisted the urge to look up at her, because that might mean I'd have to ask what she meant. Instead, I waited—and didn't need to do so for long—for her to explain. "Esme wanted me to bring you to the shop with me today. She's been wanting to hire someone to pick up the fabric deliveries and stuff, and she'd rather offer you the opportunity before some random stranger. So you're gonna come with me and see how you like it. It's actually really cool there, though of course you could say I'm biased because I already love fashion, but the layout of the store is so perfect and just. . .conducive to finding what you need. I always get my material for fashion design class from there and—"

I interrupted her. I had to. "And the reason Esme didn't ask me this _herself_ is what?" I queried.

"She thought you might be more open to my charm and winning words," Alice replied with a pearly smile. I noticed that she had unusually small, perfectly straight teeth. Was there anything about her that wasn't miniature?

"Anything else Esme wanted you to use your charm to connive me into?" I asked harshly, my voice coming out sharper than I'd intended.

Alice didn't miss a beat. "Yep. She also felt that you might be more responsive to the idea of us dressing you up in pink frilly dresses with pink bows and calling you Jennifer if I was the one to suggest it," she countered with a devilish wink before picking up her glass of orange juice and chugging the rest down like it was a shot of liquor. I looked at her in shock for a moment, struggling for an appropriate comeback for something like that, but she just set the glass back down with a bang and smacked her lips as she looked right back at me. "Well what are you waiting for? Time's a wastin'," she said, snapping her fingers and pretending to check her watch—which she wasn't wearing.

I felt a slight twinge of annoyance. "Don't snap your fingers at me. I'm not a dog," I growled.

"Well, you smell like one at the moment, so you might want to hurry up with that shower.

We have fifteen minutes before we have to leave," Alice graced her last statement with a smile that was so innocent I had to fight back a smirk in spite of myself. I stood up and turned on my heel, trying to save my last shred of dignity, and harrumphed my way out the door, purposely leaving my empty plate on the countertop rather than putting it away in the sink.

There really was no reckoning with this girl.

* * *

I considered myself dressed appropriately in a faded black tee and torn blue jeans as I made my way out the front door. No, the jeans weren't torn as a fashion statement; I'd ripped them when I was helping my father fix the shingles on the roof to stop a leak six months ago. We hadn't had the money to buy another pair, and I refused to walk around in denim that had been darned with a needle. It would have looked even more ridiculous than the modern idiotic style of a jagged hole in a pair of pants—as though one needed ventilation. I say if you need ventilation in that area that badly, you need to shower more often. Which was never my problem.

Alice was waiting for me in a flashy yellow sports car that was so low to the ground I thought I'd have to lay down to slide inside of it. I checked it out as I approached; a _Porsche Turbo 911_? Seriously? How much money did these people have? Money _must_ grow on trees. They probably had their own orchard. I'd have to find out where it was—get a few seeds for myself. Then I'd plant my own money tree, but just one. Just enough to get by. I wasn't particularly high maintenance.

I ducked as low as I could, feeling as though I was folding in on myself as I tried to squeeze my 6'1" frame into her tiny excuse for an overpriced vehicle. She looked over at me from where she was applying lip gloss in the sun visor mirror.

"My god, you're huge."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks."

"No, really, you take up like, the entire car. I wouldn't be surprised if it can't even move now," she continued, seemingly oblivious to my sarcasm. Or maybe she was just ignoring it. It seemed she tended to do that a lot lately. Namely this morning.

I leaned back in the seat—as far as I could since my head was touching the ceiling—and looked out of the window. She was quiet for a few moments as we reversed out of the driveway and sped down the winding road that led to the freeway. That was as long as it lasted, though.

"So are you ready for school?"

I blinked in disbelief. _School? It's freaking August and you're asking me about school? I don't think about it until September first._

I told her so.

"But what about back to school shopping? All the good things are sold out by the time September starts," she said, smacking her chewing gum that was—black? Leave it to the punk fairy to find black chewing gum. What on earth did they use to color it? Tar?

"I've never been big on shopping," I told her. It was true. No need to include the fact that I couldn't afford a suit for the new job that I'd gotten some months back (before the accident) without doing sixteen odd jobs around for neighbors and then borrowing money from one of my teachers at school before I could buy it. Then my first paycheck went straight to paying back my teacher.

She looked at me as though I had sprouted wings and begun flying in circles around her head.

"I. Cannot. Believe. You. Just. Said. That." she gasped, putting her hand to her mouth in what appeared to be genuine horror. "Shopping is. . ._vital_ to the survival of the human race! Without shoppers, there'd be no foundation for the capitalist system, and then the world could never move forward and progress! And without progression, we go back to the Neanderthal ways and start killing each other off for food and— well, no need to worry. You'll learn soon enough," she cheered herself with a smile and the thought that she might be able to indoctrinate me with her erratic spending habits. Not a chance.

"Why fashion?" I muttered under my breath. And we were headed towards a fashion store. Where, presumably, I would soon be working. I could sense my doom looming on the horizon.

We pulled up in front of a chic looking boutique with fancy letters gracing the modern awning. _Esme's Creations._ I unfolded myself from the car as soon as she had stopped, not waiting for her to put it into park. I desperately needed to stretch my body and make sure everything was still in working order. My left leg was a little numb, but besides that, I seemed to have come out intact. There had to be some other way to get to the store without cramping myself into that inconceivably small space again.

Alice parked the car and got out, skipping over to me and squinting up into my face.

"You ready?" she asked.

I shrugged, not feeling ready at all. In fact, a sudden case of nerves had come over me and I felt like booking it back to the Cullen house on foot. But I wasn't about to let her know that. So I put on my best expression of nonchalance and walked ahead of her to the door. I opened it, bowing gracefully as I stepped to the side, and throwing on a crooked grin for good measure.

"Ladies first."

She sashayed past me with a dopey grin on her small pixie face.

I stepped after her into the store, which was crowded with racks of clothes and fabric piled high on shelves, coordinated according to color. I repressed a shudder. Behind the counter was an abundance of mannequins with various partially completed outfits pinned to them, in varying stages of alterations. A mechanical bell sounded as we entered, and from behind a faceless doll rose Esme, two safety pins captured between her lips and a third in her hand as she looked towards the door.

Her eyes lit up as she saw me, and she quickly removed the safety pins from her mouth and smiled broadly.

"Edward! I'm so glad you came," she said as she stepped through the small swinging half-door which separated the space behind the counter from the rest of the store. I nodded at her, not entirely sure what to make of her enthusiasm. "I've been needing someone to drive the truck to pick up cloth and supplies for some time now, and Laurent—well, I wouldn't trust him behind the wheel of a Tonka truck, much less the one we have out back," she lowered her voice conspiratorially.

"Was that my fabulous name I heard falling from your lips, Esme?" An unfamiliar deep—and yet oddly feminine—voice floated from the back of the store.

"Laurent!" Alice dashed off to meet the newcomer halfway, launching herself the remaining distance into a pair of tanned, muscular arms.

"Hey girl, I thought you'd never get here. What took you so long? Your fant-abulous outfit?" The speaker was obviously male, with short, spiky black hair and dark brown eyes that hinted towards mischief and also a fierce loyalty.

And there I went with my evaluations again. I'd always prided myself on being able to read people's temperaments through their features—and I was pretty darn good at it, too.

Alice flicked back a few strands of her short hair and tossed her head.

"Don't I look like this every day?"

Her friend laughed. "How very blasé." Then he looked over at me for the first time and ducked to stage whisper in Alice's ear. "And _who _is this _fine _boy over here that you have not introduced me to? And _why_ do you insist on distracting me from my work by bringing in fresh—" Alice covered his mouth quickly with her small hand and glanced over at me apologetically.

"This is my new foster brother I told you about, Edward. Edward, this is my best friend and idiotic coworker, Laurent." Suddenly she squirmed and swatted Laurent while wiping her hand frantically on his shirt. "Gross! How many times have I told you to stop licking me?"

"And how many times have I told you to stop covering my mouth?" he countered with a sly grin.

"You need to buy a filter and learn to regulate what comes out of it, then," she chided him.

"Not a chance, honey. You've got to let the magic flow." He turned to me. "Welcome to _Esme's Creations,_ darling. How may I be of service to you today?" I didn't miss the inflection on "service." I raised an eyebrow.

"Laurent. Please," Esme's voice saved me any further embarrassment as she cast a disapproving glance in his direction. "We discussed this."

Laurent smacked his –_pink_—bubblegum and winked at her. Then he turned back to face me, all business.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, and I hope you'll enjoy working here at _Esme's Creations_ as much as we do. It's a great environment. Oh, and welcome to Forks." He extended his hand in a very masculine gesture, all traces of femininity absent from his voice.

I looked over at Alice, who urged me ahead with very dramatic facial expressions from behind Laurent's back. It was all I could do to suppress the chuckle I felt rising. Not wanting to be rude, I shook his hand and nodded.

He had a firm handshake. At least I didn't have to worry about a perpetual limp-wrist hovering around me as I worked. I gave Laurent a brief nod as we shook hands, and then quickly retreated into my personal safety zone: three feet away from everyone.

There was a brief moment of awkward silence in which I worried that they had noticed my hasty retreat. But thankfully, Esme saved my behind again, clapping her hands and moving through us towards the rear of the store.

"Why don't you follow me, Edward. I'll show you where the loading dock is, and how to disarm the security alarm before I take you to the truck."

I turned on my heel and followed along behind her, Alice and Laurent trailing along behind me gushing over some sort of new fabric that was supposed to be coming in today. I caught bits and pieces of "sheer" and "glossed" and "fan-tabulous." I stopped listening there.

For someone so decidedly feminine, Esme sure knew a lot about vehicles and the whole workings of mechanics. I ventured a question.

"Do you have a license, Esme?"

She nodded proudly. "Class A. I could drive this baby myself—I'd love to, in fact—but modesty forbids me." She chuckled. "Actually, I just don't have the time what with filling customers' orders and managing the store."

"Nice," I said. That was pretty impressive. I'd never have pegged her for mechanical. Carlisle must be proud.

"The warehouse is in Port Angeles, on the outskirts of the town. I've programmed the address into the GPS for you. Are you ready to make your first run?"

I nodded.

She continued, holding out a set of keys. "Great. Of course, you're not obligated to work here. If you don't like it, feel free to look elsewhere. Carlisle and I just thought that you might like earning a bit of your own spending money, and since we were looking for a driver, we decided to offer you the opportunity first."

I nodded again, taking the keys from her outstretched hand and climbing into the truck. She handed me a thick booklet. "This is the sales distribution sheet for our store. Please check off each item you pick up before you drive off; the warehouse isn't responsible for it once it leaves the premises." She smiled up at me in the truck cab. "And that about sums it up. Thank you for doing this, Edward. We really appreciate it."

I seemed to have lost my power of speech. I gave her a smile, but even to me, it seemed slightly off.

_Well, I tried,_ I thought. I threw the truck into reverse and gave them all a mock salute as I drove away.

_Turn left at the intersection,_ a feminine voice intoned, and I obeyed, checking my side mirrors to make sure the rear of the truck cleared a pole on the meridian.

I had a job, and I planned to keep it. It was the official start of a new life for me. This should be interesting.

**A/N: I know this chapter took what, four and a half months to get up? And even so, I posted it immediately after I finished it. Well, that's me. I do apologize for the long wait. And if you're still around and enjoying the continuation of the story, please review!!!**

**Love, Cahryn K.**


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